Losin' It
by wyte-tygre
Summary: Anamaria adopts two kids from Tortuga. Will they cramp Jack's style? Not if they're kidnapped. JackAna. Rated for swearing and suggestive behavior. (Uh, they are pirates!)
1. Beginnings

*AN: Fanfiction= Not mine. Well, most not mine. The children (who you will be introduced to later) are mine-- but they are for sale, if anyone actually wants the brats.  
  
Sorry. Moving on.  
  
This is un-beta-ed, and still under massive inspiration. So things are still being worked out. Tell me if stuff don't make sense.  
  
This is the second version, hopefully it flows better. It's also been condensed, FYI.  
  
Pairings: JackAna, WillLiz.  
  
I'm a traditionalist, sorry.  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ------------------------------------------ Children? In Tortuga?  
  
Anamaria sat in the tavern, looking bored. Captain Jack Sparrow was well on his way to getting rip-roaring drunk on his favorite drink, rum, while the rest of his crew closely followed suit, funded by their latest booty. The men were failing to amuse her with their usual antics of bellowing ballads and rowdy stories, so she turned her attentions out the door, to the streets of Tortuga.  
  
As a pirate's port, it certainly served its purpose. It got pirates drunk and- the male ones- laid. 'Twas really all that mattered-- to the male pirates. Plenty of cheap whores to be found. Anamaria firmly turned her bitter musings towards the loud row being held out on the street. A fat, rolly-polly (thus successful) whore was screaming at the top of her lungs at two dwarf-like midgets-- no, not midgets. Children? In Tortuga? Unheard of. There weren't children here. Prostitutes never actually bore out any of their pregnancies: they would lose business definitely for about nine months, and the reputation would go around of child-bearing, and then the customers would be uneasy. Needless to say, abortion was the method of choice in Tortuga.  
  
Her curiosity aroused, Anamaria went to investigate.  
  
"Ye horrid brats!" The painted prostitute screeched, and slurred at the same time. She was tipsy- not drunk, but tipsy. "I be tire o' ye ruinin' me business! Out! Out I say! Begone! I refuse te watch ye spawn o' Satan anymore!"  
  
The whore began flailing about, to the amusement of the patrons and fellow whores behind her, in an attempt to hit the two small children. As her vision was alcohol impaired, all of her blows missed. Anamaria's eyes narrowed anyway.  
  
Anamaria noted one whore, a slightly-built blonde dressed in various shades of green, with a pained look on her face. She was probably responsible for whatever good these children ever had.  
  
The elder of the two children, a flame-haired boy, about 6 or 7 Anamaria would estimate, grabbed the smaller child, a Hispanic-looking girl about 2, into his grubby arms, in an attempt to shield her.  
  
"But, mum." He weakly protested. "Me sis mean no harm."  
  
"That I be not sure of! The bitch attacked me customer! Bit 'em on the leg, 'e did!"  
  
The young boy countered, "But 'e just a baby! And 'e kicked 'er!"  
  
The whore leaned down into his face and screamed, "Begone, miscreant! I 'ave no more to do with you!"  
  
And with that, she stomped through the whorehouse door, and slammed it shut.  
  
Her audience, fed from the whorehouse and the street, began to slowly disperse, some with drunken backwards glances toward the dismal pair left in the street.  
  
Anamaria watched the boy turn about slowly in a circle, looking at the groups of drunks watching the children curiously, and most with unhealthy interest.  
  
The boy called out, "Do anyone need a worker? I ca' work real hard, and I ca' do anythin'!" Desperation tinged his voice.  
  
Anamaria felt a tightening in her chest, and quickly walked over to the two. Being one of the only sober people in the street meant she easily beat all of the drunks who attempted to totter towards the easy booty of the two innocent children.  
  
"It just so happens we be short a cabin boy on me ship." She said, in a deep and serious tone. "D'ya think ye could handle that?"  
  
The boy nodded enthusiastically, his shock of red hair falling over his eyes. "Aye, lady. That I could!"  
  
"Good." Anamaria barked. "Then follow me, youngster." And with that, she set off. Her normal walk was a relatively brisk pace, and soon she unknowingly left the youngster in the dust.  
  
The boy looked down at his now-sleeping burden, and at the quickly disappearing woman pirate.  
  
"Lady! I be coming!" He announced determinedly.  
  
Anamaria turned on her heel, and saw the boy attempt to drag the sleeping girl by the arms in order to catch up with herself. Luckily, the sleeper took no notice of this abuse upon her person and continued snoring delicately.  
  
Anamaria shook her head, and walked back to the pair. "'ere," she motioned with her hands, and picked the sleeping child up. "I'll take 'er." The boy looked up at her with wide, blue eyes, filled with an emotion Anamaria never thought to see in a child's eyes- fear.  
  
"Never ye mind, boy, I won't harm ye --sister." She stumbled, as the children were obviously not related by blood, but that was the only title she could think of to reassure the boy.  
  
The boy relaxed, sighing. His little body seemed to sag under this release of stress. Anamaria panicked, thinking that he was going to collapse, and scooped him up with her free arm.  
  
Grunting a bit, she felt him sag against her, and mumble, "I can too walk meself."  
  
Anamaria bit back a chuckle, and whispered, "But it be quicker this way, lad."  
  
She felt the lad nod as she strolled back to the Black Pearl, laden with two new burdens.  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ------------------------------------------ Kiddos on Board the Black Pearl  
  
She tip-toed as quietly as she could onto the ship, trying not to alert the watchman, who just happened to be Gibbs, the first mate.  
  
He cocked an eyebrow at her two burdens. "Whatcha be takin' there, lass?"  
  
From his angle, it looked like two sacks of grain garbed in strangely colored sacks. Anamaria looked about. "The kids were kicked outta a whorehouse. They gots ta be the only ones on Tortuga. Kiddos, I mean. Boy and girl. They can only be safer 'ere. Just don't tell Jack- 'e'd pitch a royal fit."  
  
Gibbs shifted uneasily. "It be bad luck for a woman to be aboard-- even ye, competent though ye be. A girl-child, I dunno."  
  
"Please, Gibbs."Anamaria pleaded, perhaps for the first time in her life, moved by these two children asleep in her arms. "They got nowhere else te go."  
  
Gibbs turned his back to her. "Fine. But it's up to ye to convince the rest of who find out." Anamaria released a sigh of relief. "Good. I'll be 'idin' em in the 'old."  
  
It all went quietly for three days. Anamaria always managed to be in the hold whenever a crew member happened on the children, whom she had stashed in a cubbyhole behind the half-empty boxes of the Black Pearls' latest booty. She took them out on deck in the moonlight, in an attempt to let them see the sea, and get some fresh air. She only did so when she was certain that the night watchmen were friendly, and that Jack was sleeping. She had managed to convince most of the crew with a bit of threatening, and some with pleading, such a rare event that none of the crew had ever seen it. The topper for all was the children's sob-story of the scary prostitute. The girl's huge green eyes didn't hurt.  
  
The boy's attempts to do menial tasks certainly added to the acceptance the crew adapted towards the two. They observed him tackle such chores as unknotting rope and helping Anamaria clean the galley, whose duty she had volunteered for so that she could watch the kids at all times. Jean, the galley cook, took to the kids immediately, and spoiled them rotten at every opportunity.  
  
The crew adopted an attitude of uncle-ness, as much as this can be adopted in three days, towards the children: playing with them during their free time, showing the boy how to tie knots, assisting the girl in tottering about like a drunken pirate, teaching her simple swear words, protecting either from any sort of threat- from a crazed rat to a crazed Captain. They even helped Anamaria with the girl's diapers- sneaking her water, finding more bits of cloth, throwing the used ones discreetly overboard.  
  
An oft-heard comment was, "Me never knew a kiddie before- I left before me kid sister/brother/son/daughter/obscure relative grew up very much."  
  
The most important thing, though, was they all agreed to hide the kids' existence from Jack.  
  
It wasn't that Captain Jack Sparrow hated kids and would eat them for breakfast, alive and stewed in their own bodily fluids. It was that Captain Jack Sparrow had had a bad experience with the cabin boy, a youngster of 10. The chubby spoiled boy had the nerve to stowaway on ship for an adventure, and then, when discovered, cursed the crew for not being as bloodthirsty as he thought they would be. When he realized that being bloodthirsty pirates meant that they would have killed him, he turned into a blubbering idiot and begged for his life. This was when Jack made his fatal mistake-- he let the kid stay, made him a cabin boy. At the soonest port the kid had turned them into the authorities, and it had only been Jack's amazing luck and skill that got the entire crew out of port alive. Afterwards, Jack roundly cursed all children under the age of 15, (how he came at that number, no one knew), and threatened to throw the next child aboard his ship to Davy Jones. He was so angry, the crew took him at his word.  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ------------------------------------------ Name Games  
  
Anamaria's biggest hurdle was figuring out names for the kids. It began the first morning of the stowaway's adventure, when she woke them up for breakfast.  
  
"'Ey, boy. 'Ere's breakfast. What's ye name, anyway? I can't keep calling ye "boy" all the time." She gave each of them a roll of cornbread and a jug of water. The little girl immediately smashed the roll to bits, giggled, and stuffed each of the bits methodically in her mouth. She giggled like a drunkard the entire time, muttering, "Bre, bre.yum!"  
  
Anamaria shook her head and crouched down to join them.  
  
The boy shrugged. "I dunno. The 'ores usually called me "Idiot" o' "Fool" o' "Whelp.""  
  
Anamaria snorted, remembering another who went by the name of "Whelp". He was nothing like the boy before her. In fact, Will was probably a man now, married, maybe even with a whelp of his own on the way.  
  
She examined the kid. "Well, you're just gonna have to pick a name, then. And one for the girl, too. I refuse to call ye 'Whelp.' Got it?"  
  
The boy nodded eagerly, his mouth stuffed with cornbread.  
  
He swallowed. "Can I be Jack? Like the Cap'n?"  
  
Anamaria rolled her eyes. For a kid who should be terrified of the guy, the boy was beginning to show the signs of severe hero worship from afar. By Sparrow's reputation alone. What was she going to do when the kid actually met him?  
  
"Not a good idea, lad. Two people with the same name can be a bit confusing."  
  
He sat, quietly. Anamaria could feel the powers of concentration he summoned.  
  
"Tis ok, kid. Think about it a bit. I gots to go do me duties now. I'll be back in a bit." She stood up with a deep breath.  
  
He nodded, then looked up at her suddenly. "Wot's ye name?"  
  
Anamaria smiled. "Anamaria Corsair."  
  
He muttered to himself. "An-na-ma-ma-ria Cor-sa-air"  
  
Her smile turned to a frown. She didn't want to make life difficult for the kid.  
  
She knelt again. "Just call me "Ria"."  
  
He grinned, a happy beam of sunshine that left Anamaria a bit breathless. "Ok, Ria."  
  
Anamaria turned and walked up the stairs, reflecting on what she had gotten into.  
  
That night, when Anamaria was sneaking the kids a piece of fish and some more water, she ran into her Captain.  
  
"Why, Cap'n, lovely night, isn't it?" Her heart pounded. She knew, despite the swaying of Jack Sparrow's lean body, and drunken tottering, that he was often in possession of his full facilities, even if he didn't like it.  
  
He leaned forward, towards her, and his breath reeked of rum. "Aye, luv, ain't it? Not as lovely as me Pearl, but close."  
  
He wheeled, a bottle of rum in hand, and leaned on the rail. "Freedom is the most beautiful thing in the world." His head turned towards Anamaria. "Honesty comes pretty close, though."  
  
Anamaria gulped softly, then gathered her wits.  
  
"Certainly, Cap'n, as does purity, charity, and love of justice." She retorted. She then turned to walk down the stairs.  
  
"Wot's with the food, luv?" Jack's voice questioned softly.  
  
"Me dinner. I meant to dine under the stars, but I find the company on deck unsavory." Anamaria replied, and walked down the stairs as quickly as she could without making it look like a retreat.  
  
The boy announced when he saw her, "I decided me name!"  
  
"Oh?" murmured Anamaria, and plopped down on the floorboards beside him. "And it be."  
  
"Capt'n!"  
  
Anamaria sighed.  
  
"Boy, that' s a title, not a name." She racked her mind for suggestions, then studied the boy bouncing on his rear next to her knee.  
  
"'Ow about Zeke?" She asked him.  
  
"Zeke?" he tilted his head up at her. "I like it. Wot's it from?"  
  
Anamaria looked at him, and didn't see him. "It was me father's name." She shook herself suddenly. "And did ye think of a girl's name yet?"  
  
The boy-- Zeke, now-- shook his head. "Nope."  
  
Anamaria smiled slightly. "I'll ask me crew."  
  
The crew had more than enough suggestions. "Anna." and "Maria" were two she immediately discarded. "Purity." "Chastity". She didn't want a future pirate- a very likely possibility, given the girl's current situation-- burdened with a fancy name. Much less one that would end up being quite the opposite of the girl's actual behavior. Anamaria didn't approve of ironic names for children.  
  
"Goldie." God, the men couldn't get their mind off of treasure, could they?  
  
"Pearl." Same, with the added disadvantage of it already being the ship's name.  
  
"Rum." Never.  
  
Gibbs personally favored, "Marin." It meant ocean in some foreign tongue, but Anamaria didn't want a name that didn't reflect the girl's heritage. And from the girl's looks, she was of Spanish descent, not Irish.  
  
It was Cotton's parrot who actually came up with the name. "Awk!" It squawked. "Mi amor de Espana, Ella es muy encantada."  
  
Encantada. Enchanting. Anamaria examined the girl in her mind. Sunny disposition, curly black- as-sin hair, and lively green eyes. Enchanting.  
  
Encantada.  
  
Áda for short.  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ------------------------------------------ The Bursting of the Bubble  
  
Anamaria was happily reflecting on her current success with life when she heard the boom of cannons, and cursing on deck.  
  
She looked wildly about from her spot on the poop deck, and saw what one would assume to be a (relatively) friendly pirate ship on the starboard side, approaching fast. However, her theory was blow to pieces when the ship fired on the Black Pearl, again.  
  
Anamaria began to bear her teeth in a happy, bloodthirsty grin, drawing her sword, when she realized a very vital fact: the kid's hidey-hole was located directly where the enemy was firing. With a desperation she didn't know she possessed, Anamaria dropped her sword in a panic and dashed across the deck to the stairs, ignoring the jaw- dropping of her comrades. She jumped down the flight of stairs to where the crates were now smashed to pieces. She screamed in horror.  
  
Zeke stuck his head out from behind a smashed crate of silks. "Ria?" He called.  
  
Anamaria almost collapsed from relief. Then she stiffened. "Where's Áda?" she asked him as she rushed over to the wreckage.  
  
"Right here." Zeke, clever boy, Anamaria thought. At the sound of cannons, he had snuck between two crates, and covered Áda's body with his own. Áda looked at her with large eyes, and gurgled. "Boom!" she chuckled.  
  
"C'mon," she said, and scooped the two of them in her arms similar to their first night. "We're going to hide somewhere else now."  
  
"No boom?' Áda cooed softly as she wound Anamaria's dark hair in her cubby fist.  
  
Anamaria was about to release a dry chuckle when she reached the deck. All holy hell had let loose. The other crew had boarded the Pearl.  
  
Anamaria dashed across the deck, dodging dueling pirates and ducking past flying bullets. She kicked open Jack's cabin, and rushed over to Jack's desk, which was littered with maps and various other papers. She pulled open a large drawer and dumped Zeke into it.  
  
"You're going to hide here, understand?" She ordered him, looking deep into his eyes. His face was grave as he replied, "Aye-aye, mum."  
  
She was about to dump Áda into the drawer with him when the door to the cabin slammed open again. Anamaria whirled and shut the drawer with her foot. She faced a grizzled old pirate, with a leer on his face and a sword in his hand, armed with only a babe on one hip and a pistol, unloaded, still tucked into her belt on the other. Her eyes darted about looking for inspiration when a single shot echoed throughout the cabin, and the pirate slumped to the floor in front of her.  
  
Anamaria thought she heard "Boom!" drooled into her shirt.  
  
Standing behind the pirate was Captain Jack Sparrow. He merely bowed in a tipsy manner and turned drunkenly about to dive back into the fray.  
  
Anamaria narrowed her eyes, and tucked the child into the drawer with her older brother. She then grabbed the fallen pirate's sword, and joined in the fight.  
  
When the deck had finally been cleared of the enemy and of the dead, Anamaria attempted to sneak back into the Captain's cabin while he was still occupied with the task of re-organizing the ship. She was two steps from the door before he managed to slip his exotic, enigmatic self between her and her charges.  
  
Anamaria wanted to bellow her frustration. So she did.  
  
"What, Cap'n?"  
  
He tsk'ed her softly. "Now, now, me luv. Is that how ye talk to someone who saved ye life, as well as the lives of ye children? Not to mention I be your own Captain as well?"  
  
Anamaria snorted. "They be not mine." Then she paused, thought, and shook her head. "Never mind." Then her eyes widened in realization. Panic dawned.  
  
"Cap'n, they won't be no trouble. Just let me keep 'em for the remainder of the trip, then I'll be outta ye hair and both the whelps'll be gone. Honor."  
  
She paused a moment before whipping out her big guns. "Besides, ye still owe me a boat. Give me the boat, I'll take the kiddos off ye hands."  
  
Jack snorted. "Me got nothin' against children."  
  
Anamaria gaped. "But.but.."  
  
Jack shook his head, his various beads and shells on his braids and dreadlocks rattling madly. "Naw, luv, I've changed me mind. Heat o' the moment an' all. Thought ye knew better. Ah, just let the kiddies be for now."  
  
He tilted his head. "I wanna play wid 'em for a bit."  
  
Anamaria felt herself tremble. Since when had she been so possessive of the brats? "That's okay, Cap'n, I'll take 'em outta ye hands right enough."  
  
Jack shook his head. "Naw, I want to see what kiddies so entranced my crew that it boarded on outright mutiny."  
  
Anamaria argued. "Twere'nt mutiny! Just protecting some innocents, 'is all."He voice died as Jack turned suddenly, and tottered into this cabin. Anamaria followed as close behind as she dared.  
  
They came upon the children curled into one ball in the deep drawer that Anamaria had hidden them in. Jack peered into the crate, and Anamaria tried to see what he saw. Two whelps, curled together. One a boy of six, with a blue bandana, courtesy of Gibbs, holding back his bright red hair. His overly large blue striped shirt was rolled at the sleeves and torn indiscriminately. His striped orange pants had a huge hole in the knee of the visible leg. The girl, of dark hair and medium skin, was of some type of Indian or Hispanic origin. Her curly hair was originally in one thick braid, although you could barely tell now. She too was garbed in a large shirt, only the bright green cloth acted like a dress, and hers too was rolled to fit a tad more easily. A rope was tied around her waist, and her purple cloth diaper showed.  
  
Anamaria eyed her Captain nervously, out of the corner of her eye, trying to figure out whether Jack was really drunk, and how much so when Áda suddenly woke up and yanked one of Jack's dangling dreadlocks.  
  
The resulting yell made everyone in the Caribbean jump.  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ------------------------------------------ Discoveries and Oaths  
  
Áda sat on Jack's lap at the head of the table in the galley. Currently her face was smeared with some sort of jam, and dotted with bread crumbs. They had immediately reconciled with Áda's happy little gurgle at Jack's horrified face. Jack was instantly charmed, although he did his best to hide it.  
  
Anamaria tried not to laugh as she looked down at Zeke, who was sitting next to her on the bench. He was looking around warily, his eyes wide with worry, flicking from one uproariously drunk pirate to the next. He disturbed Anamaria's peace of mind. She was one of the few sober ones-- Gibbs, normally in sub-command with her, was pleasantly buzzed, a state he sought often. As so long as one of the responsible pirates remained sober, the rest could party, celebrate the victory and so forth. After all, someone had to make sure the Pearl stayed on course. But it didn't solve her problem-- What was wrong with this kid? He didn't touch his food, and his tiny hands gripped either side of his seat on the bench tightly.  
  
She leaned down. "What's wrong, kiddo?" she murmured quietly. The kid was developing a very touchy ego around his idols-- especially Jack.  
  
He shook his head, his eyes still wide.  
  
Anamaria sat back, reflecting. She had found him at a tavern, where one could usually find all sorts of unsavory characters. A few jerks, several extreme horrible people. All sorts of depravity and craziness on a regular basis. Cruelty, often, too. A horrible thought crossed her mind-- had Zeke been abused? Drunken pirates -- with the exception of a few, notably the crew of the Black Pearl-- cared little for a child, even less if it provided a target for abuse and entertainment. Suddenly, Anamaria grabbed the back of Zeke's shirt and pulled it up. He yelped, and attempted to twist away, but Anamaria's grip remained firm. Her fears were confirmed by the criss-cross of scars and marks across Zeke's back. He had been beaten- and from the variety in the age of the scars, for quite a period of time.  
  
Anamaria's jaw tightened. She grabbed Zeke and hauled him to the deck. So she could freak at him privately.  
  
Once they reached the deck, she spun and crouched so that they were eye to eye. "Why didn't ye tell me?" She demanded of him. "Why didn't ye tell me the drunk bastards took swipes at ye?"  
  
Zeke looked to the ground. "I was scarit." He admitted. "Áda needed someone to protect 'er, and all she had was me. So I had to find somewhere to stay. And you were the only nice one who didn't smell like the bad stuff, so that's why I picked you. And everyone was so nice here, and they didn't hit me like I thought they would when they drank the bad stuff. But I still got scairt." This all came out in a mumbled rush.  
  
Swept with sympathy, Anamaria carefully gathered Zeke in her arms and rocked him. "Oy, boyo, it's ok. We'll just treat that up all nice." Then she held him at arm's length. "I promise ye, at no time will the crew, ever, ever hit or hurt you. I promise."  
  
Zeke peeked at her hopefully. "Nobody ever made me a promise before." Then he paused. "Even the Cap'n? 'Cause he's always drinkin' the bad stuff." He wrinkled his nose. "And he really smells like it-- all the time."  
  
"Even the Cap'n." A gruff voice muttered behind them, and Zeke spun to face Captain Jack Sparrows' stomach. He looked up in alarm. Jack crouched so that he looked Zeke in the eye, releasing Áda to crawl to Anamaria.  
  
Anamaria watched the tableau in awe. Jack carefully grasped Zeke's thin shoulders in a gentle grip with his elegant fingers.  
  
Zeke actually relaxed in the gaze of the unreadable chocolate eyes-- for it was not the gaze of a drunk. It was the gaze of a person who, despite all appearances and smells, was well within control. The Captain of the Black Pearl, for all his rambling swagger, rag-tag appearance, drunk demeanor and alcoholic aroma, was making a sober promise to the orphan. And Zeke was reassured, deep in his young heart.  
  
Anamaria stood up. She just finished tucking the two children into the makeshift cots that she had make from the drawers in Jack's cabin. He reclined at his desk, studying a few maps by lantern light.  
  
The scene suddenly struck Anamaria as too domestic. She shifted uneasily, then looked at Jack. "Jack?" She asked him quietly.  
  
"Cap'n," he muttered, before saying more loudly, "Aye?"  
  
"I was thinkin'." she was interrupted by the scraping of Jack's chair. He stood up suddenly, hands in front of him.  
  
"No more slaps, okay, luv?" He pleaded. "I ain't done nothin' to ye" he quickly shoved any naughty thoughts aside "but commandeer ye boat-- and ye already got me for that one."  
  
Anamaria grinned, a bit of evil in her face. "Aye, but only if I get me boat soon."  
  
Jack nodded hurriedly. "Aye, as soon as we reach Port Royal, I'll take ye shoppin'."  
  
Anamaria cocked an eyebrow. "Port Royal? The Prude of the Caribbean? The home of the English Royal Navy? And we be goin' there why? And how far off are we?"  
  
He cocked a dark eyebrow in reply. "Why, what's ye hurry, luv? Can't stand the attraction anymore, and scared ye gonna throw yeself at me beautiful body?"  
  
His tone was teasing, but staring into his deep chocolate eyes, Anamaria wasn't so sure he wasn't serious.  
  
Well, she reflected, any female between the ages of 2 to 82 would love Jack, so why would I be an exception? Know lesbians had changed orientations in his presence. It was disgusting the lack of will her gender showed.  
  
Which was why she would fight every attraction she felt. Besides, she had a better reason yet. Don't think of it, don't think of it.  
  
She almost closed her eyes in concentration. Instead, she retorted, "Any pirate ship be not a safe place for kids. I was wrong about the Pearl, and I want Zeke and Áda gone. I can take care o' 'em meself, with me share o' the booty and me boat."  
  
Her gray eyes softened, and Jack felt himself sinking into them. "Jack, I want them safe."  
  
Jack shook himself. "Sounds reasonable. As for why we going to Royal, why, we goin' for a visit. 'Sides, the Pearl needs repairs anyways, and there's Puerta Cara a hop and a skip away. They drop me off, we peruse the selection, I poke me head in at the Turner place, and ye be off in ye boat, and I get picked up by me Pearl, repaired of ugly holes."  
  
He grinned, his gold teeth glittering in the dim light. "What say ye?"  
  
Anamaria grinned back. "Aye, Cap'n." In that moment, a spark passed, and Anamaria froze, her smirk pasted on her lovely face. It faded and before Jack could see the look of alarm take its place, Anamaria was out of the cabin and heading into the hold.  
  
"Damn female." Jack muttered. " 'Fraid 'o bein' a woman. And in me company, too. No woman turns down Cap'n Jack Sparrow." Then he reflected a moment. "No sane woman. And she might not be sane- only female pirate, but still." He laid out on his bed, still thinking.  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ------------------------------------------ "Hello!"  
  
They soon arrived at a secluded beach. It was a fair distance from the town of Port Royal. Jack stood with Anamaria at his side. Zeke's hand was tight in his grasp, while Anamaria held Áda in his arms.  
  
His gut tightened with the sight of the Pearl sailing away, but he trusted Gibbs. Trusted Gibbs, his first mate. Gibbs would never act like Barbossa, never. So why did Jack feel so sick at heart?  
  
'Cause it be me ship. He thought. Me own lovely Pearl.  
  
"C'mon." He said, tugging Zeke. "Let's go find boats."  
  
Zeke chuckled, and skipped ahead.  
  
"Oh, no, me boy. Say here with Jack, I mean, your Cap'n, alright?" Jack tottered/swaggered after Zeke quickly, grabbing his hand again.  
  
Zeke sulked. "All right." He sighed, suffering evident in his voice. They turned away from the ocean. Only half a mile above the beach was a large house, a house that declared that its owners were imminently wealthy and of highest class.  
  
Anamaria was certain of its owners: William Turner and Elizabeth soon-to-be if not already-Turner.  
  
Will, once his escapades with pirates had ended, began to woo his lady love (whose abduction was the reason for the escapades). He once again picked up his craft, blacksmithing, and his particular talent, the crafting of swords. Soon Mr. Brown passed away, something with too much alcohol in his kidneys, and Will took over the shop. His blades became so popular, and so sought after, even the crew of the Pearl had heard of them on their travels. Consequently, the whelp became so wealthy that Elizabeth's father, the Governor of Port Royal, no longer had to worry about Elizabeth marrying "beneath her class."  
  
What a load of horseshit. Anamaria thought. She did not hold with the theory of class systems. She remembered the day that Jack got the message that Will and Elizabeth were to marry. They had been at port, north of Royal. Will had sent the message with a friend, who also bore a present for Jack. "A thank you token", Will had called it. Also, "one of my finest creations for one of the finest people I know." Jack had laughed at that line, until he opened the package. It was the finest sword Anamaria, and Jack, had ever seen. Well balanced, light, sturdy, and it had yet to rust or loose its edge after all Jack had put it through. In return, Jack had sent them a cask of the best rum to be found, and cried at its departure.  
  
Jack hadn't seen them since the day they saved him from the noose (the second time at Port Royal), almost three years previous.  
  
It was time for a visit.  
  
"I'll go first, luv." Jack said to Anamaria, once the boat had been anchored and everyone rowed ashore. "I'll be making sure no Commodores are lying about, eh?"  
  
He nodded sagely and swaggered up the beach. Anamaria rolled her eyes, picked up a wet and sandy Áda, called to Zeke, and followed the Captain.  
  
She watched the Captain knock on the front door. "Hullo?" He called out.  
  
Anamaria rolled her eyes. Oh, very subtle, Jack.  
  
The door opened, and a maid, eyes wide, peered out. "May I help ye, sir?" She questioned softly.  
  
"Aye. Does a Mr. William Turner abide at this here residence?"  
  
"Yes, sir." The maid began to slowly eyeball Jack.  
  
"Is he in residence at this current time?" Jack queried, smiling broadly.  
  
"Yes, sir, he is. Do ye have a card I may take?" The maid opened the door fully.  
  
"Why, no, luv. I'll just show meself in." And with that, Jack pushed past the girl and into the house.  
  
Anamaria rushed up behind him dragging Zeke behind her. Apologizing to the shocked maid, she too walked through the door.  
  
The maid huffed and made for the kitchens. Jack was too busy peering into doors to notice. Anamaria stood in shock, afraid to touch anything. All the items reeked of expense and impeccable taste. She hated to admit it, but one of the things that intimidated her was extreme wealth.  
  
Áda squirmed in her arms, so Anamaria put her down, and slowly turned around, looking at everything-- to the gilded wallpaper to the exquisite figures on the mantel. She was able to ignore Jack's muttering and Zeke's opening and slamming of doors, but she was shook from her reverie by Áda gnawing on the leg of an expensive looking chair.  
  
"Encantada, no!" Anamaria cried, and picked her up.  
  
Elizabeth was disturbed from her re-organization of the upstairs salon by a series of slams coming from downstairs. Curious as to what the matter would be, but keeping in mind the incident from a year ago, she cautiously picked up a fire poker and preceded to the stairwell. She observed a mulatto woman, garbed in a tattered gray hat and a ragged shirt over another, and loose striped pants tucked into worn boots, chase after a lively curly haired Spanish-looking toddler. She was armed with an old sword on one hip and a piston on the other. Both were held in place by a multi-colored sash and belt. Her blue-black hair, though held away from her face by a faded handkerchief visible from underneath the hat, hung free.  
  
A boy ran back and forth, opening and slamming doors. He wasn't alone in his search, for a man, wearing a worn leather tri-corn hat and sporting a variety of beads in his dreadlocks--  
  
Dreadlocks--  
  
Worn leather tri-corn hat--  
  
"Jack!?" Elizabeth screeched, and ran down the stairwell.  
  
Jack looked up from peering into a dark room, and his ringed hand immediately went to his pistol. However, he was unable to move further before a young noblewoman tackled him.  
  
They both fell on the floor.  
  
Elizabeth was the first to recover. Brushing a curl out of her face, she sat up regally and announced, "Captain Jack Sparrow, how nice it is to have the pleasure of your company again." Then her face broke into a grin. "How've you been?"  
  
Jack answered with a grin. "Christ, If'n I knew ye would be so glad to see me, I would've had me a more proper greeting. Ye been lusting after me these whole years by?" He turned to Anamaria, who now held Áda in her arms and was watching the scene. "I told ye no woman could resist me lovely self." He turned back to Elizabeth. "What, ye man not be satisfying ye no more?"  
  
Elizabeth turned red. "No, Will is down at the shop. I'm sure he'll be up soon, I know he would like to see you again." Then she looked at Anamaria suddenly.  
  
"Anamaria?" She said in surprise.  
  
Anamaria inclined her head, and smiled slightly. "Aye, Elizabeth, ye daft lass?"  
  
Elizabeth laughed out loud, and scrambled to her feet. "Oh, it's good to see you again. I've never had anyone so roundly question my abilities as you did."  
  
Anamaria laughed in return. "And I've never been so amazing by such crazy ideas almost working." She reflected silently, I do have to respect her. She was such a stubborn, determined young woman. Just like me.  
  
Elizabeth wrinkled in nose in amusement, then her attention was drawn to the child in Anamaria's arms.  
  
"Achoo!" Áda sneezed. She then snuffled, and snuggled into Anamaria's embrace, promptly falling asleep.  
  
Anamaria looked up to meet Elizabeth's kindly questioning gaze.  
  
"Oh, she be not mine. I mean, she be mine, but not of me blood." Anamaria growled in frustration. "What I mean is, I found her and Zeke o'er there." with a nod of her head at the boy running up and down the hallway. "at Tortuga, and I kinda adopted 'em."  
  
Elizabeth raised her eyebrows. "Children? In Tortuga? And now, on the Pearl?" Anamaria shrugged uneasily. "That were me first reaction, in Tortuga. We 'ad 'em on the Pearl for a bit, and one scuffle later, I decided I needed me boat now, and I be goin' back to me pearl divin'."  
  
Elizabeth's eyes were wide at the idea of the children present during a pirate battle.  
  
"Well," She murmured, "Thank goodness they're safe now." She peered at Áda. "And who is this, precisely?"  
  
Anamaria shifted her sleeping bundle towards Elizabeth. "Ye can take 'er, if ye want." Elizabeth nodded eagerly and carefully picked Áda from Anamaria's arms.  
  
"That," Anamaria indicated with her head, sitting elegantly down into one of Elizabeth's fancy chairs, "is Encantada, Áda for short. As far as I can tell, 'e's daughter to some Spaniard, from 'er coloring. About 1 year old, I would say. Lively gel, tad mischievous."  
  
Jack snorted. "Damn near pulls me beard off, the whelp does." He put in, rubbing the injured party.  
  
Anamaria grinned. "Over there, investigatin' all ye lovely drawers, is Zeke. 'E says 'e's eight, but I'd place 'em closer to seven. He looks Scottish, talks like an Irishman, and all with a pirate accent. He learns everything around 'em, and curses like a sailor already."  
  
Elizabeth heard a maid yelp, and a boy in reply screech, "Skittah*!" and scramble down the hall to where they sat.  
  
Anamaria grimaced. " 'E swears in several languages." She finished. The boy, a freckled redhead, clambered onto the couch besides Jack and immediately mimicked Jack's wobbly pose. Elizabeth laughed merrily. "You've put together quite the family, Anamaria." She chuckled.  
  
Anamaria had to smile back. "I just got lucky." She said. "Or, as Jack says--"  
  
"Captain, luv, Captain Jack Sparrow!" Jack muttered underneath his breath.  
  
"--I was just really unlucky."  
  
"Well," Elizabeth said, suddenly standing up. "I'll show you to your rooms." Anamaria looked t her, alarmed.  
  
"Oh, really, that's quite--" she tried to say.  
  
"Quite necessary. If you are to visit with us properly, you can't be running up and down the beach. Is the Pearl even still in the harbor? I didn't think so. So I insist. Come upstairs. You too, Cap'n." She turned towards Jack, who was examining the silver candlesticks closely. "Alright, luv, but don't go expectin' too much civilization o' me now," He warned, then swaggered towards the stairs.  
  
Anamaria rolled her eyes at Elizabeth, while Elizabeth covered her mouth to laugh silently. Elizabeth then turned and led Anamaria up the stairs, while the latter dragged two children after her.  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ------------------------------------------ More Surprises  
  
Anamaria stood in awe in her room. She hadn't seen a room like this since.her childhood. It was elegant. Oozing with antiquities, tastefully chosen and carefully placed. Some French style, Anamaria thought. But best of all. in the room next to it, connected by an adjoining door, was a bathing room.  
  
Most importantly, there was a bathtub. And it was half-full with steaming hot water. She hadn't had a bath- a hot one- in a long time. The maid tapped on the door behind her.  
  
"Miss?" She said in a soft voice. "You do want a bath, correct?"  
  
Anamaria nodded, and asked, "Certainly. Can I get me things, before I take it?"  
  
The maid looked confused. "But I brought you things to wear. They're in on the bed."  
  
Anamaria shook her head. "Oh, I don't be wantin' a dress."  
  
The maid looked distressed. "You can't be wearing that to the banquet tonight!" She cried.  
  
Anamaria narrowed her eyes. "Banquet? Me? Tonight?"  
  
The maid nodded, her face frightened. Anamaria made a sound of disgust and stalked out of the room to look for Elizabeth.  
  
"Miss Turner!" Anamaria bellowed, stomping through the upstairs east wing. She paused for a moment to admire the afternoon sun shining through the tall windows, then turned to continue her search. She almost knocked Elizabeth down.  
  
"Please, Anamaria," Elizabeth's voice was soft, but steel. Anamaria approved of it. "Call me Elizabeth."  
  
Anamaria inclined her head to signal her acquiesce, and replied, "Then call me Ria. It's less of a mouthful, and I be used to it 'cause that's what the kids call me."  
  
Then she barreled forward with what she had to say. "I can't be going to no banquet, especially in a dress. I don't know what possessed you, but truly-"  
  
Elizabeth interrupted. "It's the night before our wedding."  
  
Anamaria's jaw dropped. "Oh. That changes things."  
  
Elizabeth smiled slightly. "Aye. I wanted you and Jack to be there to celebrate. Besides, I sort of wanted you to be in the wedding party."  
  
Anamaria raised her eye brows. "Me? In a wedding party? In a noble's wedding party?"  
  
Elizabeth's smiled widened. "Well, yes. I know you can behave yourself-if given the proper motivation and opportunity-and I like to think of you as a friend. A true friend. You are certainly one of the few I can be myself around, and the only female. The rest of the girls in the party are political connections of my father, and empty-headed ninnies at that. Besides, my maid of honor quit when she heard-- well, she's gone. You can take her place. You're just her build, and I still have the dress. Bedsides, you'd bring some flavor, and I desperately need that." She paused. "The children can easily be taken care of by the maids." She smirked evilly. "It will give them a taste of what's to come." The smile disappeared and she tilted her head at the smaller, darker woman. "Please?"  
  
Anamaria grinned, and said, "And what sort of dress do I be in tonight?"  
  
Elizabeth grinned back happily. "Whatever sort you want. I have several ideas-the maid should have already brought them to your room." She paused. "I hope they fit. They were supposed to be for my engagement party, but I can't wear three dresses to one party." She shook her head. "As you're a tad bit smaller than I, we might have to alter the dress we pick."  
  
Anamaria grabbed her hand and dragged Elizabeth back to her room. "C'mon, girly, I 'ave no time for this-let's get me presentable."  
  
Elizabeth laughed, and the happy sound echoed throughout the hallway.  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ------------------------------------------ Getting Ready  
  
Elizabeth had Anamaria's things brought to an adjoining room of Elizabeth's so that the two could help each other, (although it would be mostly Elizabeth and her maids assisting Anamaria) in getting ready. The two chatted through the bath about their respective day-to-day lives, and about their experiences with children. (Elizabeth had watched children with their housekeeper before she came to Port Royal; Anamaria had none before Zeke and Áda.)  
  
Anamaria was slightly nervous about the dress Elizabeth ended up selecting for her. The choices were a rather prim white ensemble, a rather daring jade green one, or this blood red outfit. The neckline was square, and the bodice tight, with seams edged in tiny rubies going down each side of her chest. The sleeves were off the shoulder, gathered at the elbow, then allowed to follow freely, bell-like, past her hands. They hid a particularly nasty and curious scar decorating her right wrist. The skirt was full, but not frilly. Straight lines of tiny rubies continued down the skirt. As the dress was a bit long, Anamaria had to compensate by wearing higher shoes than what Elizabeth would normally wear. Thankfully, she quickly picked up the knack of wearing the heeled slippers, and amused the maids, (whom she learned were Constance and Patience) and Elizabeth for several minutes by prancing about in them, "practicing".  
  
But, to her severe disgust, Anamaria had to wear a corset. Elizabeth tried to console her by telling her that Patience, who was currently digging her foot deeper into Anamaria's spine to get "a better grip", was tying her corset no where near as tight as Elizabeth's had been when she had fainted and fallen off the battlement walls in the incident that began the adventure three years ago.  
  
This failed to console Anamaria.  
  
Anamaria watched Constance assist Elizabeth into a dress that was pastel blue, a light sky-like color that faded to a deeper purple at the bottom of the dress. Her sleeves were tight and short about her shoulders, and small pearls were embroidered in a variety of patterns about the bodice.  
  
Constance and Patience cooed over each of the ladies. Anamaria made a self- deprecating face to hide her torn emotions-- disgust and amusement.  
  
Elizabeth directing in the arranging of the hair-hers was bound up, with a few strategically placed curls let loose, while Anamaria's was curled, teased, and ended up in a simple braid with a few loose strands about the face.  
  
"Come," Elizabeth announced, while Anamaria was still staring at the mirror, trying to figure out where the only lady pirate to sail the seven seas went, "We shall see what the men have done before the banquet starts."  
  
Will had been responsible for Jack, and obviously it was a struggle for power. From the neck down, Jack had all the appearance of a proper English gentlemen about to grace a banquet-in fact, Anamaria had to admit that Jack cut a rather dashing figure, for his person was lean and muscular from the days at sea, and his plain black and white clothing flattered him. However, Jack had refused to relinquish either his dreadlocks or his bandanna, and rings still graced each of his fingers. The sword was still buckled to one hip (although Anamaria doubted that Will put up an argument over that, as he was the creator of the magnificent weapon, and any nobleman would be proud to wear it) and a pistol still rode on the other. His disturbing brown eyes were still dramatically outlined in kohl- although Anamaria noticed it was fresh- but his bronzed skin was several shades lighter than it had been this morning, suggesting a bath.  
  
Will, standing beside him, looked exhausted but handsome. He was the epitome of English elegance- although his brown eyes held an independent spark that might have been unnerving to someone else. To Anamaria, it was reassuring. Bootstrap's son still carried on his father's spirit. He said to Elizabeth, "He somehow agreed, between the argument about the vest and the argument about his hair. Although I don't know what your father will say when he hears the reaction of the people attending."  
  
Elizabeth gave an unladylike snort. "Father will deal. Who else would he want to do it? Norrington?"  
  
Will shrugged. "Well, I'm just giving fair warning."  
  
Anamaria looked from Will, to Elizabeth, and back again. "Who's agreed? To what?"  
  
Will said, with a look of pleasure on his face, "Jack's agreed to be my best man."  
  
Anamaria raised her eyebrows, and said softly, "Oh, really?" quite politely, and looked at Jack. He beamed at her, a frightening thing of white and gold. "Aye, luv. Ain't life grand?"  
  
Will and Elizabeth looked at each other, shared a secret, smile happily, and Anamaria rolled her eyes.  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ------------------------------------------ At a Civilized Gathering  
  
"I hardly recognize me own, luv, in that outrageous getup," Jack murmured in her ear as they twirled around the ballroom.  
  
"I can hardly recognize the infamous pirate Captain Jack Sparrow in new clothes waltzing in a nobleman's ballroom," Anamaria retorted, careful to keep her voice low. It was obvious enough "Jackson Finch and his lovely wife Maria" were not exactly cut of nobility's cloth, but it didn't do to flaunt the fact. Luckily, not many of the nobility remembered the embarrassing hanging attempted last spring, and those that did wisely kept quiet after the announcement of the "English privateer" who would act as William Turner's best man. No one, especially, dared contract Commodore James Norrington, who publicly concurred with Will's introduction.  
  
How Mr. Turner got the Commodore to do that, Anamaria would never know.  
  
The dinner was an amazing success. The food was excellent, the drink intoxicating and the music subtle but good. Even the atmosphere was heady. It was obvious to Anamaria that a number of couples were forming on this romantic summer night-it seemed that love might be contagious. As she looked upon her dancing partner, she dearly hoped not.  
  
Jack snorted loudly, drawing a few startled glances in his direction. He merely grinned at them briefly before turning back to his "wife."  
  
"I, at least, can still act the pirate in this vile outfit." He replied.  
  
"I can too be a pirate, even if I am in a corset," Anamaria said, offended.  
  
"Aye, luv?" He said, leaning closer. "Let's see it."  
  
They snuck off to the upstairs hallway. Anamaria retrieved her sword from her room, and the duel began.  
  
They were up and down the servants' hall in exchanging a series of chops designed to use a great deal of power to exhaust the opponent early. However, as both were experienced pirates, the ploy didn't work.  
  
"Now, luv, let's see your footwork," Jack said with a grin, crossing one foot to the left. Anamaria quickly responded with a left sidestep of her own. Jack raised his eyebrows in surprise. "What shoes ye been wearing, luv?" He said, as he lunged.  
  
"Heels," Anamaria replied sweetly as she blocked his thrust and parried.  
  
"It's simple," she elaborated as she began a series of chops, this time, low and on either side in a varying pattern. "If one stays forward, on one's toes, one can balance better, and the clunky heels do not become so much of an issue."  
  
"Ahh," Jack said in an understanding tone, and used his block to shove Anamaria backwards.  
  
She went down, rolled to her knees, and growled. While Jack paused, examining in his mind the implications of Anamaria on her knees in front of him, albeit four feet away, the object of his thought whipped off her shoes and threw them at him.  
  
He grunted as one hit his diaphragm. The other missed his head by inches.  
  
Anamaria got up to begin another charge. Then they heard the sounds of two people making their way up the back stairwell. They were the sounds of two people becoming more and more, um, _involved_ with each other, complete with murmurs and endearments. To Anamaria, it sounded like two lovers on an average romantic night. Jack, however, recognized it as two people about to engage in passionate sex. Curious, but not dumb, he rushed Anamaria into the nearest doorway of the new hall, and they both peeked outside the door.  
  
The couple moved closer, but their faces were not visible in the darkened hallway.  
  
Jack looked down at Anamaria, who was watching the scene with an unreadable expression on her face.  
  
Anamaria replied frantically, "Jack! They are comin' this way!"  
  
Jack grabbed her and they dashed to the nearest hiding spot, behind another door, which led to a familiar bathroom, keeping the door slightly ajar in order to watch for the opportune moment.  
  
"Ohmigod." Anamaria swallowed a chuckle. "It's Liz and Will!"  
  
Jack grimaced, then grinned. "Guessing he be not an eunuch then, huh?"  
  
Anamaria desperately smothered her laughter before awareness of her surroundings sobered her instantly. She was on her knees, pressed rather intimately into Jack's lap, and his upper body curled around her. She felt him still, and become aware of their position as well.  
  
His lips curled. "Ah, luv, finally got me where you want me?"  
  
Anamaria felt breathless, then suddenly frustrated. She leapt up, the top of her head connecting with Jack's chin. His head snapped back, and he grabbed his injured area.  
  
"Christ, luv, assault was not the answer I was hopin' for!" He whispered furiously. He didn't get an answer. Anamaria stalked out the other door, and then whirled. "This be my room, Captain Jack Sparrow, so git out- now!" She ordered as quietly as possible.  
  
"Uh uh, luv, it be not nice to send away a lover without the proper goodbye." Jack leaned forward, in a drunken manner as always, but he could see in Anamaria's wide grey eyes she wasn't fooled.  
  
"We're not lovers!" She whispered frantically.  
  
"Correction, luv," he held a finger to her lips. "We've not consummated our passion, like Will and Liz over there yet." Then he bent his rule and replaced his finger with his lips. 


	2. The More Things Change

*AN: Okay, nothing is mine. I'm sure you know this.  
  
And on with the story.  
  
Still un-beta-ed. So tell me if it don't make sense. I tried to condense it. What do ye like better?  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ------------------------------------------ Repercussions  
  
Well. This was interesting. He had expected a struggle, a fight. What he didn't expect was the fading feeling of pain in his chin, and a sudden melting reaction on the part of Anamaria. He grabbed her and firmly pulled her closer, and she responded by twining her arms around his neck. The familiar rush of desire swept Jack, and he deepened the kiss, to which Anamaria responded with a moan. Her lips clumsily tried to copy his, but she soon gave up and let him do what he wished. This led Jack's now fogged brain to a rather startling conclusion: She had never been kissed?  
  
However, habit soon took over. He backed her into the door, then through to her room, kissing her madly. She was responding in a similar manner. The bed knocked into their knees, and Jack responded by habit- bending her backwards and untying the back of her dress. But nothing prepared him for the way she suddenly broke away from him, shoving him backwards and screeching in panicked fury. She jumped on top of him and had her fist pulled back before she seemed to regain a modicum of sense and leapt back off of him. "Get out," she ordered him, breathing heavily.  
  
"Luv, I give the orders," he retaliated, rising to his feet in an unconsciously intimidating manner.  
  
Anamaria rallied her failing courage and said, "What, the infamous womanizing Captain Jack Sparrow has to resort to rape?"  
  
Jack narrowed his eyes, stung, and retorted, "Ye weren't exactly objectin' back there, luv."  
  
Anamaria recoiled, and replied hotly, "Well, I'm objecting now. Leave my room!" Her voice rose dramatically on the last word.  
  
Jack put his hands out in front of him and made soothing motions while he backed out. He would settle this later. "Fine, luv, fine. I be leavin' now, watch me leave," he murmured and he walked out into the hall.  
  
Anamaria sighed, plopped down on her bed, and tried to puzzle why she had panicked so. She just connected the scene with one earlier in her life when Jack popped his head back into her room. She yelped and leapt forward to smack him.  
  
"Wait!" Jack ducked and held up her sword. "I brought this to comfort ye as ye rejected my brand o' comfort tonight."  
  
Anamaria softened, slightly, and said, "Thanks, Jack. Now, out!"  
  
He quickly pulled his head back and shut the door. Anamaria tottered back over to the bed and collapsed, sword in hand. She remained there, and didn't fall asleep until early the next morning.  
  
Anamaria slowly marched down the aisle, with Jack at her side. She was quite sure that the well-to-do of Port Royal were gossiping madly about Elizabeth's wedding, even if they were sitting in a church. After all, who could resist such a delectable tidbit-- a Governor's daughter, marrying a tradesman, even if he was a focus and wealthy one- wealthy through questionable means and, let's not forget milady, known as a pirate's son. Add to that your matron of honor, a respectable daughter of a local wealthy merchant, and replace her with a unknown mulatto, and her husband, a white man, a supposed privateer?  
  
Elizabeth was going to be the subject of gossip for weeks.  
  
Anamaria doubted she'd mind all that much.  
  
She stood through the ceremony, lost in thought. She thought about Zeke, and Ada, and how they would be terrorizing poor Constance and Patience. She thought about her father, for the first time in years, and her mother. What kind of relationship did they have? Nothing as grand as Will and Elizabeth, that was for sure. They had bother matured. All with love. The Whelp was a great deal more confident, and more at ease with his lady love. Elizabeth had steadied, and while still stubborn, much more diplomatic about it. She was still impetuous, but no where near as much. She was a true lady. Anamaria sneaked a look at Jack. For once, his aura was not screaming, 'Look At MEE!!' Instead, he seemed content to watch Liz and Will devote their lives to each other in front of the entire town. He was standing with a content, calm, pleased air that automatically made Anamaria wary. He was never like this. His cleaning up for the occasion had even progressing to trimming his beard, and untangling his hair into a neat ponytail. A few braids and trinkets were still visible. He was Captain Jack Sparrow, after all.  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ------------------------------------------ Back to Life as Normal  
  
Anamaria walked in the door, with Jack right behind her. His duty served, he was quite ready to re-braid his hair and make off while the getting was good. Besides, now the two lovebirds were on their honeymoon-- that meant that they would probably be even more lovey-dovey than ever. Anamaria was just anxious to take off the dress. And maybe check on the kids.  
  
They were met in the parlor by Will and Elizabeth.  
  
Elizabeth began, " 'Ria, I know you don't have your boat yet."  
  
Anamaria raised her eyebrows in interest. "Aye, that I don't. Jack said we'd sail for another Port to look in, probably somewhere in the Bahamas."  
  
Will broke in. "So you probably don't want to haul the kids around, right?"  
  
Jack looked up and mouthed "Thank you!"  
  
Anamaria considered the idea. "I wouldn't want to be imposin' on ye honeymoon." She replied slowly.  
  
Elizabeth shook her head. "No, I am slowly going crazy re-arranging this house all day, and Will will have to be at the smithy. I'd love to do it."  
  
Anamaria shrugged. "Sure, then. It shouldn't take more'an a coupla weeks. I just need to find me clothes an' say goodbye to the kiddos."  
  
Will smiled. "Good. I should get used to this now, huh?"  
  
Jack grabbed his shoulder and took him aside. "Aye, lad, 'cause ye might be changin' ye mind with one hour o' the lil' one."  
  
Will laughed.  
  
Anamaria rolled her eyes at Elizabeth. " 'E's laughin' now." she said warningly.  
  
Elizabeth looked mildly alarmed. "They can't be that bad, can they?" She asked. "They seemed like perfect angels--"  
  
She was interrupted by a loud slamming upstairs, closely followed by a loud yell that sounded like a very bad word in Scottish.  
  
Anamaria looked at her. "Does that answer your question?"  
  
Back at the Pearl that night, Gibbs was on night watch. Jack invited Anamaria into his cabin for a drink and a discussion about her boat.  
  
They ended up in a philosophy discussion. Typical, when both were on their way to getting stark raving drunk.  
  
"Ye see, most people, that is all they look at is the outside. Why, how do you think I get away with what I do? Look drunk, people assume ye are drunk, and phip! Off ye go outta their damnable prison and onto the sea." Jack waved about his near-empty rum bottle to illustrate his point.  
  
Anamaria nodded in agreement. "Aye, that's all the nobility concern their fancy lives with. Makin' everythin' look pretty. Pretty house, pretty town, pretty uniform, pretty wife. Who cares if the foundation's bad, or the wife stupid, or the uniform absolutely bloody impractical? Well, the husband might if the stupid wife accidentally burns down the pretty house."  
  
Anamaria snorted drunkenly in amusement at the hypothetical wife's predicament.  
  
"How else do ye think we made so well at the damn wedding?" Jack asked her.  
  
"We looked good." Anamaria exaggerated her nodding. Then she stopped. "Well, we looked like them." She corrected.  
  
Jack lifted his chin arrogantly. "_I_ looked good, thank you. But," he sniffed, "what else can I do? It's the burden of being beautiful."  
  
Anamaria snorted again, and rum came out her nose. "Oh dear God." She chuckled quietly.  
  
Jack paused reflectively. "Well, the nobles do care about somethin' other than looks, luv." Anamaria looked at him questioningly.  
  
"Pedigree. Who descended from who." He waved his bottle around again. "Descended. Sounds like the blighter fell down a set o' stairs."  
  
Anamaria wrinkled her nose in disgust. "Families. Whose family is good enough "to associate" with whom." She growled. "Blood. Whose damn blood is special enough to be blue."  
  
Jack grew still, sensing a great deal more passion behind those words than a drunken midnight philosophical theory.  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ------------------------------------------ Drunken Confessions  
  
"O' course," Anamaria spat, "The blood doesn't count if ya a bastard."  
  
Jack started in surprise, and looked at her with incredulity in his eyes. She nodded. "Aye, I'm the bastard of a nobleman, a bloody aristocrat in the bloody Americas." She relaxed a bit, a tiny, itty bit, resigned to telling her history. "He was a good man, I suppose. A man, at any rate. He had a slave mistress, as many masters in the South do, only his was without the added sin of having a white wife. He actually like my mother, and my mother liked him in return. Grew to love him, I suppose, out of her original intentions of breeding more-like-white children. Which is all a black slave woman can aspire to, I learned. To aspire to have children that can pass in a white world as white. Breed the black out." Before her musings turned more bitter, she turned course. "She died birthing me, as many did. I wasn't supposed to live, but I did. And my father didn't get bitter, he saw me as a blessing. He raised me as a legitimate daughter, as much as a white master can a mulatto slave. He taught me my letters and numbers, and how to farm. His passion was jewels, and he taught me about rubies, and diamonds, and pearls. He loved pearls. He taught me, in theory, how pearl-diving was done, and where. How, in the Caribbean, the daring could make fortunes, diving for the seeds of the sea. Then he died. I revered to my slave state, and after being raised as an equal, a daughter, I couldn't take it. To be sold, like chattel? I had avoided the auctions before, but because I had ignored them, not because they offended my delicate sensibilities. But now that I had taken time to think about it, it wasn't right, by God's morals or man's. No one should ever be sold. Ever. For any price. No person should be a slave, except if they committed a crime and it was punishment, but no honest, free person should be subject to that.  
  
I was supposed to, but I was spared.  
  
The night before the auction I ran away. There was never another alternative. I ran South, to the Caribbean, to where I had heard such wonderful tales. They never expected me to run to where there was sympathy for slavery. But what the white people never expected was a slave to pretend to not be a slave in the South. It was too daring. But for me, too perfect.  
  
The charade lasted me to the Carolinas. There a bunch of young men, boys really, came across me begging passage to one of the island ports here. They said they would, and foolish teenage me, thought they were being noble and generous."  
  
Anamaria paused, and closed her eyes in pain. The memories and feelings of the night swamped her, not to the extent of nightmares before, but enough to make her take several deep breaths. "They tried to rape me. Somehow, I managed to keep my head when they ripped off my clothes and groped me, checking to see if I was a virgin. But while they argued to see who would go first, I grabbed a skinning knife that was nearby, and gutted the nearest one. Then I grabbed his sword.  
  
I don't think I said that my father also taught me sword fighting. He was a strange man-he thought it was okay for men to seduce women, but raping women he didn't hold with. And raping mulattos was popular from where I was from. So like any good father, he wanted me to be able to defend myself. Since I couldn't do it with my name or wealth, he gave me the physical capacity and skill.  
  
The bastards never thought I would have any skill. There was only four of them, and they never drew their own weapons." Anamaria's voice grew even more hollow.  
  
"I killed them all. And then I shoved their bodies overboard, stole their boat, and taught myself to sail. I ate their supplies, snuck into a port, stole some paint, and re-painted the boat. I stole some supplies from there, too. I ended up pearl-diving off of the Spanish keys, and selling my findings to a fat merchant in Port Cara. Made next-to-nothing, but enough to live my life." She looked at him, into his eyes, her own so haunted and pained it made him ill. "You know the rest."  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ----------------------------------------- Duel, Part II  
  
Anamaria's gaze turned abruptly to the bottom of her mug. She smiled grimly and said, "I ain't down enough rum yet, Capt'n, to be talkin' about such thin's." She grabbed the bottle of rum and swigged it.  
  
Jack looked at her with his curious gaze. Anamaria avoided it, and chugged the rest of the bottle. The fire it created going down her throat was marvelous. It burned out any feelings of guilt. At least for the moment.  
  
The rum left her judgment slightly off- balance. She looked up suddenly, and said, "Capt'n, I challenge ye to a duel. We didn't really finish the last one."  
  
Jack cocked an eyebrow and leaned back in his seat. "Fire in ye belly, luv?"  
  
Anamaria stood up suddenly and said, "I hate it when ye call me that! I've told ye before and I be not tellin' ye again! Don't call me that! Ye call the whores that and any lil' pathetic creature that litters ye path that! I am not them! Anamaria, Jack! Call me Anamaria!" She took three steps and whipped out her sword. "Even Zeke and Ada remember to at least call me 'Ria." She wheeled on him, sword in hand. "And they be but children!"  
  
Jack leapt up, and pulled his own sword. "Fine, _'Ria_" and he swung downwards. Anamaria met with an upward swing, and jumped backwards. Jack almost tipped forward, but regained his balance and lunged after her. She turned and ran out the door, onto the deck. Jack ran after her. He wasn't two steps out the door when he heard a step beside him and he circled to his right and met Anamaria's sword with his own.  
  
As they danced across the deck of the Black Pearl, Jack realized that Anamaria was not motivated merely by finishing the duel that they had begun at the Turners'. She had to purge her mind of the memories she had, however drunkenly, revived during their discussion.  
  
Consequently, Jack, who, despite all appearances, was no where near as smashed as Anamaria, did not unleash his full fury on Anamaria. Instead, he amused himself with shredding her clothing: near enough to look real, but not so close he might forget himself and accidentally gut her.  
  
Not that he didn't consider it.  
  
But only for a moment.  
  
But suddenly, as his mind was brought back to the fight, he didn't have to hold back. Anamaria's blade was moving like a whirlwind, and he was hard pressed to counter her attack. She backed him up to the walls of his cabin. He attempted to sidestep his way out of it, but Anamaria mirrored his movement, and trapped him in the corner.  
  
"Hah!" She breathed, their swords fighting for supremacy. She dropped her sword and brought it up in a reverse-butterfly pattern.  
  
Jack brought his sword up with as much strength as he could muster, and them met with a ringing 'CLANG!'  
  
Anamaria looked at her hilt in shock. Jack had completely shorn off her blade. She looked at him. He had the same look, only with a bit more awe then hers. He turned his gaze to her, only to see her collapse on the deck in a heap. Jack sheathed his sword, slowly, since the gift from Will seemed a lot more potent than he had initially thought. He then looked at the now snoring woman pirate asleep on his deck, in front of his cabin door, no less, and sighed.  
  
"Can't have ye scarin' the watchman, can we?" He sighed, and bent over to pick her up. Heaving her once in his arms to adjust his grip, he kicked open his door. He then turned, kicked it shut, walked over to his bed-in a straight path, for once-and dropped her on the relatively large bed. (At least, for a ship) He then stripped himself of his effects, nudged the sleeping woman over, and collapsed on top of the blankets.  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ----------------------------------------- Anamaria's New Clothes  
  
Anamaria looked down at her clothes is dismay. Never in the best of shape, now, they were complete shreds. She couldn't work like this in front of the crew! She stalked down the her space below decks- then, halfway through rummaging for new clothes, she remembered. The reason why her current clothes were in such pitiful shape to begin with was because she had no other clothes. She'd given her last pair of pants to Zeke, and her last shirt of Áda. She stomped back above deck, clutching a blanket about her. She'd just have to smile nice and borrow some off of the crew. After all, it wasn't like she wore dresses, right?  
  
Right. None of the men had any spare clothes-- she had looked through their stuff secretively afterwards. Anamaria had snorted, half in frustration, half in amusement. How typical of males. They could work shirtless if they had to. She shouldn't. In an act of desperation, she asked Jack-- and he didn't have any either. What he did have-- and it made her blood boil for some unknown reason-- was a dress. Anamaria looked down grimly. A whore's dress, from the amount of cleavage popping out of the top of it. There were a few initial catcalls, and more than a few comments when she began her task of the day, swabbing the decks, but those were quickly put to rest with a glance. Anamaria thanked her lucky stars that the crew had a modicum of respect for her, woman or not.  
  
Jack called her over. "Listen, lu- Anamaria," he corrected himself, but from the puzzled look Anamaria gave him, it was obvious the events of the night before escaped her. "I can't get any of the men to go in the nest 'cause Gibbs said somethin' about a storm comin'. He saw a shark or somethin' sing." Jack rolled his eyes dramatically. "They're terrified." But then he smiled, his "I'm-charming-so-you'll-do-what-I-want-pretty- please," grin. "So, my lovely lady, you'll show them the woman braver, right? 'Cause these be dangerous waters, and I don't want to stick my nose where it might get bit off by pirates jealous of me handsome mug."  
  
Anamaria rolled her eyes and threw her skirts behind her. "Fine."  
  
She eyed the rigging nervously, and thanked whatever gods watching her fate that her boots were still in relatively good condition. She would have to let the skirts dangle-  
  
Damn the skirts. Anamaria whipped out a knife she kept stuck in her boot, just in case.  
  
"'Ria!" Jack called from his wheel. "I'd be greatly appreciative if you would keep the dress in one piece. I might need that in the future, you know."  
  
Anamaria was tempted to disobey him, but disobedience in front of the crew, when Jack had given her the dress when he really didn't have to, would not sit well. Especially with her own conscience.  
  
Anamaria struggled up the ropes, fighting to keep the skirts from tangling her legs. She heard murmurs below her, and she paused to look down. From her position, almost halfway to the crow's nest, she could see the crew, already small, pausing in their tasks and looking upwards. It took her only a few moments to realize why.  
  
"None o' ye better be lookin' up me skirt!" She bellowed. Most of the men turned back to their tasks, red faced. She turned her face upwards, towards the quickly- disappearing sun. A stray breeze caught her worn hat and it tumbled towards the deck.  
  
"Jack!" She called, in a pleasanter tone than before.  
  
"Cap'n!" drifted up to her.  
  
"Fine," she muttered. "_Cap'n!_" she stressed. "Watch me hat!"  
  
"Aye!" He tossed the word up before signaling one- handed from his post at the wheel for her hat to be brought to him.  
  
Important things, hats.  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ----------------------------------------- Storm Hits  
  
Anamaria woke to the sounds of shouting below. It had gotten dark. The boat was rocking wildly, tossing her about in the basket. Cursing, she looked over the rim. The sight made her pause-actually, she had to consciously remind herself to keep breathing. A huge storm-what a typhoon would look like, Anamaria supposed-was almost on top of them. She could see the sheets of rain hitting the waves, which were growing in height and violence. Anamaria looked down, and began cursing. There was a better chance of Beelzebub handing out sorbet in Hell than her getting down the rigging in her skirt. Angrily, she pulled out her knife from her boot and started hacking at the material. Granted, she would now really look like a whore, but better immoral than dead.  
  
It was difficult, with the boat tossing, but soon enough the task was done. She threw one leg over the rail, then suddenly got nervous. Anamaria screamed, "Jack!" He looked up, and all he saw was a torrent of rain.  
  
The temperature dropped like a hung pirate-but it didn't stop. Anamaria felt goosebumps pour down her back through her drenched shirt. The ropes were soaked, and climbing down was made even more difficult by her frozen hands. Her booted but numb feet scrabbled for a foothold. She screeched as she slipped.  
  
Lightning flashed, outlining a figure struggling in the rigging. Jack started from the wheel, but he refused to leave his beloved Pearl to fight the storm alone. "Gibbs!" he hollered. "GIBBS!" Jack narrowed his eyes against the rain as he watched a figure aid another in tying a rope. The first made his way over to Jack as the second headed below- where the rest of the crew were now battening down everything that could move and resting while they could.  
  
"Gibbs," Jack yelled, as soon as the figure got close enough, "Lash a rope to the port side, then watch 'Ria for me."  
  
"Aye," Gibbs hollered, as he abruptly turned about and struggled back towards the railing. "Wait!" Jack suddenly looked as if he were patting himself down, and Gibbs, once he made his way back up to the quarterdeck, found a bundle of things thrust at him.  
  
"Me effects." Jack grinned, and turned back to steering, or, at least, attempting to.  
  
Gibbs tottered back down the stairs. He managed to find a rope, somehow behind a barrel that was tied a little loosely, and he lashed the soaked hemp to the rail as best he could. He glanced back at Jack, the crazed figure holding onto the wheel with one hand, glancing casually upwards.  
  
Good God, was the girl still climbing down?  
  
Gibbs looked upwards as well, when the ship rocked particularly hard towards the portside. He looked just in time to see the Pearl toss Anamaria off her rigging like an aristocrat would a piece of dirt.  
  
Jack sighed noisily above the storm.  
  
"Take the wheel!" He called, as he ran towards the waiting rope.  
  
Gibbs stared at him in awe. "Ye knew this was gonna happen?"  
  
Jack merely looked at him as he tied the rope around his waist. Then he nodded and dove off the rail.  
  
It was difficult to say the least to find Anamaria. He searched for her in the dark waves, his eyes wide even as salt water attacked them viciously. He kept up a steady stream of swearing in his mind, as to mouth the words would be inviting the water to choke him, as well.  
  
"Ria!" He called, chancing it. It came out as a choke as water swamped his mouth. He ended up swallowing a great deal of it, and his stomach attempted to rebel. He quickly quashed its rumbling and yelled again, "RIA!"  
  
He thought he heard an answering cough from a few feet away. He struck out for the sound.  
  
Lightning flashed again, a quick invasion of the eys, leaving Jack with the image of a darker shape underneath the already dark water. "ANA-" He called as he struggled towards her. His fingers brushed a scrap of fabric and he grasped hold of it as firmly as he could. He hauled her towards him, wrapped his arm around her waist, and pulled at the rope tied around his waist. He was soon being hauled through the raging water with his limp burden firm in his embrace.  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ----------------------------------------- Thank God We're Alive and Whole  
  
Jack grinned his trademark gold-flecked smile of thanks at the crew once he was standing- not quite upright, but standing- back on deck. They had just happened to notice the rope over the side, and they just happened to be the five largest, strongest guys on the crew. And they just happened to be finishing putting the rope through a pulley when they felt the tug.  
  
Jack's luck was right back with him.  
  
Except for one small thing. Anamaria, he noted with a disturbed frown as he knelt by her side, wasn't breathing.  
  
This could be a problem.  
  
Jack whipped out his knife from his waistband, and slit the laces of the corset carefully, trying not to cut her skin. As he peeled the evil contraption away, he hoped Anamaria wouldn't kill him for letting her flash the crew. His hopes were in vain-she had bound her breasts with several strip of fabric, covering her rather well. He allowed himself a tiny feeling of satisfaction that she wouldn't have do be in such a compromising position-even unconscious-before realizing something.  
  
But she still wasn't breathing.  
  
His heart stopped beating. An eternity passed, and frustrated, Jack brought his fist down to pound it on the deck. Distracted as he was, however, the fist ended up pounding right between Anamaria's breasts.  
  
She reacted immediately. Her eyes flew open as she spewed water, curling on her side away from Jack. She retched an awful lot of water, Jack observed, pursing his lips. He bent over her and scooped her into his arms. He knew she would want to be out from under the eyes of the worried eyes of the crew. Anamaria wouldn't want anyone seeing her in such a vulnerable state-and quite frankly, Jack wasn't real comfortable with it either.  
  
He tottered towards his only refuge-his cabin. Jack turned in his doorway to make sure that he didn't hit his burden in the head with the doorframe, and he noted that the crew had already disappeared below decks.  
  
He kicked the door shut, threw Anamaria onto the bed on top of his covers, then collapsed next to her. He fell asleep with the sound of her soft breathing in his left ear.  
  
Warming Things Up  
  
When Jack next woke, he wished to hell he hadn't. His body ached like he had never slept, with the added bonus that his body was salt encrusted and his clothes were stuck to him like a shell. As his head lolled to the left, he noted Anamaria, in a similar condition curled up along his side, using his chest as a pillow.  
  
He frowned when he realized that she was a burning ember compared to his rather clammy skin.  
  
This motivated his blood. He eased out of bed, strode to the door and hollered, "GIBBS!"  
  
Within moments, the grizzled old man barreled into the room. "Aye?" He panted.  
  
Jack grinned at his prompt arrival, but waved his hands to keep Gibbs at a fair distance.  
  
"I need fresh water to bathe meself and Sleepin' Beauty o'er there." He explained. "I be thinkin' we're sick, as she be burnin' up and I feel like we be in the Artic."  
  
Gibbs nodded sagely. "Aye, 'tis bad luck to.."  
  
Jack cut him off. "I just be needin' the water, and some clothes," he ordered more sternly, "Savvy?"  
  
Gibbs nodded again, wheeled on his heel, and was out of the cabin.  
  
Jack sighed, and turned back to the woman still sleeping in his bed. This had to be a first. A woman sleeping in his bed. His. On the Pearl. And he hadn't even slept with her. Well, okay, he had, but not in the biblical sense. And that was the sense that counted.  
  
As if his thoughts of her were a signal, Anamaria began to toss and turn. Jack waddled over to the bed, as moving in sea-stiff clothes was uncomfortable to say the least. He took her hand in an attempt to calm her, anchor her to the physical plane.  
  
Anamaria woke up with a start. He corset had (thankfully) been removed. That was her first thought. Her second was that Jack held her firmly with his wonderful hands by the shoulders. His eyes were concerned. She looked back up at him, startled. "What- what happened?" She stuttered, her hands plucking at the sheet in an attempt to pull it up over her chest.  
  
"Ye had a nightmare." Jack said. Then he paused, his mouth moving slightly, but no words coming out. At least, Anamaria hoped no noise was coming out. His eyes rolled dramatically, and Anamaria noticed his kohl was smeared more than usual. "Well," he continued, "first ye fell off of the mast-ye clumsy girl-then when I got ye back on the Pearl, where ye promptly decided to stop breathin'. So I cut off ye corset, and ye still aren't co-operating, but I _convince_ ye to change ye mind." His smirk faded. "As far as I can tell, we both be gettin' a fever." Anamaria noticed his unusual pallor and slight shivers. "Ye runnin' higher than me right now, luv," he murmured. "Nothin' serious, but I just wanna keep ye rested. I sent for bathwater anyway, so we can have soft clothes again." Anamaria smiled softly and closed her eyes. Jack was dumbfounded. Anamaria was asleep, half- hell, three-quarters naked, in _his_ bed, and she had a _smile_ on her face? He scowled.  
  
Someone knocked on the door. "Aye?" Jack called. Gibbs entered with a tub full of water, obviously for washing. Jack cocked an eyebrow in question. Gibbs explained, "We found it in the brig somewhere from raiding." He was followed by another crew member, Thomas. Jack nodded in appreciation as the giant black man bore a larger tub, full of water and meant for a person. Both crewmembers nodded to their captain before filing out. Jack wheeled towards the bed, noted that Anamaria was still asleep, and began stripping. He loved the sea, but when she turned him chalky white, it was time for a bath. Even if he had just had one two days ago.  
  
He hummed his favorite song as he scrubbed at his body with the cold water and a rag. "And really bad eggs." he mumbled. A tossing sound drew his attention and he looked to the bed, where Anamaria was turning about wildly.  
  
Jack cursed, grabbed his half dry, now clean under shorts, and leapt out of the metal basin. He stumbled across the cabin, attempting to dress and walk at the same time. Walking alone was usually difficult enough. He grabbed her in an attempt to restrain her, but he released her immediately. If she was burning up before, she was a positive firestorm now. He threw the covers back. Then he studied for a moment the sight she presented.  
  
She still had on the binding around her breasts. Her skirts were a tangled, tattered mess that ended, approximately, at her knees. Her worn black boots came up to the top of her calves, and were beginning to chaff under her knees. Her hair was a tangled mess, and her bandana was long gone. Which reminded him.  
  
Jack's eyes scanned the cabin, and locked on his target. There, he still had her hat. She would kill him-or at least threaten to a lot-if he had lost it.  
  
He turned his attention back to his patient. She needed to cool down. Which meant a bath. But he would have to bathe her, as there was no doctor or other feminine person on board. And if she found out, figured out or caught him anywhere near her while she was naked, she wouldn't settle with threats of his death-she'd do it.  
  
But he'd get to see Anamaria naked. Mustn't forget that.  
  
Jack sighed as he tugged off the first boot. He'd have to risk it. They'd played at enough duels for him to defend himself reasonably well, and she wasn't the type to mutiny or backstab him. He'd stake his life on it. Hell, he'd have to. Jack pulled at the second boot. At least she had calmed down a bit. This fever was strange. While they both obviously felt listless, Anamaria was more prone to sudden fits and high fever, while he just moped around in bed, his energy sapped by a low one.  
  
Although, he thought as he stopped in his task and felt his forehead, it might've gone up. The bath didn't help much.  
  
Anamaria rolled to her side suddenly. Jack eyed her cautiously, his gaze traveling up the now bare leg to where he could see a scrap of fabric that didn't belong to the skirt. He held his breath as he brushed aside the tatters and beheld a tighter, smaller, more feminine version of the under shorts he now had on. Thank god for small favors. Now, instead of sudden death, he might only be mildly to severely tortured. Maybe maimed.  
  
He cut off her skirt using a knife that was conveniently hidden behind the headboard of the bed. Then he scooped her into his arms again. This was beginning to become a pattern.  
  
He then walked the three steps to the tub and plopped her in. Surprisingly, she didn't wake up. Jack frowned, and began wiping her body with the rag he had already used. The water was mostly still clean, he hoped, but the more important thing was that it was cool. That was what mattered.  
  
She began shaking when he moved onto her hair. He pushed her head back to soak it in the water and he tried to detangle it a bit with his fingers. But soon her shaking became so violent that he feared she'd hurt herself in the small container she was in. He pulled her up, wrapped her in a spare blanket, and lifted her back into the bed. The shaking didn't ease, so he piled more covers on top of her. As Jack covered her body more and more, he longed to be beneath there with her, and not only because it was warm. He missed feeling her in his arms.  
  
WHOA! He thought, leaning backwards sharply. Where did that come from?  
  
But Anamaria shivering drew his focus back to her. Jack pressed his lips together, exhaled sharply, and crawled underneath the pile of blankets with her. He ignored their various states of undress-not because of any chivalrous attitude, but because the affect his thoughts might then take his body-- and pulled her tight against him.  
  
He was warming up.  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ----------------------------------------- Back at the Ranch.  
  
Elizabeth watched Constance chase Ada down the hallway.  
  
The little girl had been miserable all day yesterday, moping and moving listlessly as much as a toddler could be listless. Elizabeth, the maids, and later, Will and Zeke had all tried to draw her out, but she merely pouted and refused to speak except to demand, "Ria!"  
  
Today, however, she had turned into a right hellion, running up and down the halls, getting into anything that moved, torturing the cat Elizabeth had adopted, and so on. Broken pottery shards littered the hallway upstairs, drawers were pulled haphazardly in the rooms, and rugs were upturned everywhere.  
  
The maids were exhausted, and Elizabeth's patience was wearing thin. Children were the devil.  
  
How did Jack and Anamaria survive days of this on board the Pearl?  
  
At least Zeke was occupied, assisting Will at the forge. Although Elizabeth doubted how much help Zeke actually was, as Will had been working there for almost two years after he had bought out Mr. Brown. Thanks to the Commodore's recommendations, Will was flooded with commissions from the nobility and officers of the navy, allowing him to be as selective as he wanted to be. Besides, as Will slaved over each sword individually, and that took time, the supply never met the demand, and probably never would.  
  
Elizabeth allowed herself a small smile at her new husband's business savvy, which allowed them a much more finically secure lifestyle than others might have previously imagined for them; her father, for example. And, if the worst should happen, there was always a sizable amount of pirate gold hidden in a cove about half a mile south of their beach.  
  
But it didn't solve the problem of Encantáda, trouble on two feet.  
  
When Elizabeth heard the maid screech, she tiredly got off of the Louis XIV chair she was resting in and went downstairs to examine the latest sort of trouble.  
  
However, she did not expect to find Patience held at gunpoint by a beanpole- like pirate, Constance unconscious on the floor, another grubby pirate bearing a sack that was cursing loudly in French, and another dirty pirate leering at her, a pistol in his hand. Elizabeth looked about wildly, and saw a short, fat pirate struggling to keep Ada in his grasp. She watched in horror as the pirate dropped the toddler suddenly and smacked her upside the head. Ada's eyes widened and she began to scream. Elizabeth joined her, calling out as loud as she could, "HELP!"  
  
More filthy pirates swarmed through the first story window, and Elizabeth wheeled to run out the door. That was NOT the help she was intending to call.  
  
The pirates looked at each other, and then lashed out viciously at the nearest target. The fat one smacked Ada again, and she fell quiet, sniffling. Patience fainted dead away, without any help, and the pirate bent to tie her up. The sack-carrying pirate lifted it high, and then dropped it. The baggage ceased its struggling. The other pistol-bearing pirate cracked the fleeing Elizabeth in the back of the head with the barrel of his gun, and she dropped to the floor like a rock. They hauled their booty out the window, and down to the beach, where two rowboats awaited them, as well as their ship.  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ----------------------------------------- I've Got To Be Dreaming  
  
Anamaria woke up in a state of panic.  
  
She made it halfway to the door before Jack realized she was gone.  
  
She took two more steps before he had grabbed her and dragged her into his arms. "Anamaria, wake up, luv." He murmured, his voice rough and low in her ear. " 'Tis alright, wake up."  
  
Anamaria squirmed, only now realizing their various sates of undress. It made her body react in...uncomforting ways.  
  
She pushed against his chest, struggling to get free. Jack released her suddenly, causing her to lurch and grab hold of his arms to steady herself.  
  
She looked into his deep eyes, her own wild. "Jack, the kids, something's happened to the kids!" She whispered hoarsely. Urgently.  
  
Jack blinked slowly.  
  
Anamaria's panic grew to nigh unbearable levels. She cried out frantically, "Jack, the kids. Something happened to the kids. Ada's face hurts-- someone hit her. And Zeke- he doesn't jurt, but he's absolutely terrified. Terrified."  
  
Jack looked at her with a mix of wariness and his own brand of worry. He gently brushed back a loose strand of her hair. "They're with Will and Liz," he said soothingly, locking his eyes with hers. "And no matter how much the demons destroy, I doubt that Will, or Liz, would ever let anything happen to them."  
  
Anamaria's dead certainty did not waver. "No, Jack, I shouldn't have let hem outta me sight. I gotta go back." Her hands dropped from his arms and she turned from him. "And if ye have any spare clothes 'idden, and if I get 'em now, I won't slap ye. And it better not be a dress."  
  
Jack smirked, sauntered over to a worn sea-chest and pulled out a clean white shirt and balck pants. Anamaria smiled happily and held outher hands. Jack dumped the undle into her arms and said, "By the way, Gibbs has already turned us around to Port Royal. So if ye want, while we work on the Pearl, ye can wander around and poke ye head in, if ye want."  
  
Anamaria shoved her head through the shirt and nodded. She looked around the cabin. "Do ye have a belt o' somethin' I might borrow?"  
  
Jack rolled his eyes. "Me shirt, me pants, me shawls."  
  
Anamaria perked up. "Where?" She inquired, her voice dripping with politeness.  
  
Then, ignoring him, she began to rummage through the chest. She jumped up, clutching her worn blue hat. "Oh!" she cried out happily. "Jack! You still 'ave it!" She plunked the tattered object onto her head and turned back to the chest. She got herself under control as she pulled out a rainbow colored shawl, folded it, and tied it around her waist. She stalked out of the cabin, and barked out "Thanks!". Jack grinned to himself as he dressed. It would be a good day.  
  
Anamaria reached the poop deck before the shaking started. Her hands trembled violently and her legs unstable. She tottered over to the nearest barrel, and slumped beside it. She used it to keep out of the crew's eyes while she gathered her strength. When did I eat last? She vaguely remembered broth. Anamaria's thoughts were interrupted by a sudden hacking cough wrenched from her chest. I remember doing this lots. Almost immediately a shadow fell over her. Anamaria looked up. Cotton's gaze met her own, and he helped her to her feet. Anamaria was still shaky. The grizzled old man slung his arm around her in a casual, friendly manner and helped her to the galley.  
  
The crew stared at their backs. Anamaria-- needing help?  
  
Anamaria sipped carefully at her broth. Jean eyed her anxiously, and Anamaria forced a smile to her sore, cracked lips. 'It's delicious," she said but the skinny, middle aged French-chef-turned-pirate-galley-cook did not look relieved.  
  
Instead, he scowled. "I already know zat et es bon, et es magnifique!" He spat. "But I du not know zat mademoiselle es bon."  
  
Anamaria smiled against, genuinely touched by the (relatively-- six months old) new chef's concern. The crew was still mostly the one who had fought the undead- even though most pirates didn't stick around, something about the experience bonded them to each other and Jack and the Black Pearl. With three years of drinking together, the men- mostly middle aged, but still plenty horny-- wenching together, and joking around together, surviving storms and easy pickings, they had all become close.  
  
No one had died-- even Cotton, the ancient, speechless, apparently sweet old man. Anamaria had come to look upon him as a grandfather, even if she did want to roast his "voice"- his pet parrot, a rude, obnoxious creature-- slowly over a pit.  
  
The crew's teasing had relented from resentful to almost brotherly. Anamaria reflected in amusement over a memory.  
  
Almost a year ago the "boys"-- as she referred to the crew in her mind-- defended her against several very drunk men. They had taken offense-- for some unknown reason-- to her state of dress. They didn't like woman "pretending to be what they weren't". Anamaria had had the first male, who had wanted to "show the whore her place" by the throat with her knife, but she was quickly overwhelmed by the other three. That was when the crew, led by Gibbs, ironically enough, happened by-- a true opportune moment.  
  
They had thoroughly thrashed the drunks-- not killed, because that simply wasn't their style anymore.  
  
Not to say that they hadn't crippled anyone.  
  
Anamaria had finished her broth, and Jean had replaced her bowl without her realizing it. She sipped at it half-heartedly, her stomach full. Finally, she pushed it away and shoved her chair back from the table. Drawn by the noise, Jean appeared from behind the door. He looked at the half empty bowl, at her, grunted, swiped the bowl off the table and swept back into the kitchen. Anamaria called after him, "Merci!"  
  
She heard Jean laugh. "Améliorez, chatton*."  
  
Anamaria made her way slowly to the deck. She was greeted at the top of the stairs by Gibbs. "Jack wants to know if ye are ready to go." "What?" Anamaria frowned.  
  
Gibbs nodded sagely. "Aye, we be just outside o' Port Royal. I'd be assumin' ye to be leavin' soon, with the tide an' all."  
  
Anamaria turned back down the stairs to her "closet." It was her small room, adapted from an old cell for holding enemy captains. It was small enough for a chest and a hammock-- enough to survive comfortably. Anamaria collected her knives from her chest and grabbed a worn overcoat to keep off the chill. She checked her hat and walked back up the stairs.  
  
Anamaria let Jack row to shore. He was in full regalia-- hat, bandanna, coat, kohl, attitude-- and his confidence that they would find all to be well irritated her. She didn't like to acknowledge her supernatural talent, but she was well trained by Nana, her childhood nurse. Besides, it did not do to ignore true dreams the voodoun spirits sent. Bad things would happen.  
  
*Better, kitten. 


	3. Life or Something Like It

*AN: Here's the responses:

**Guinevere**-- yes, thanks. All fixed.

**Reese Sparrow** --sorry, not a whole lot of torturing…but you get a good taste of it, no?

**D.M**. sorry, but it's all fixed (hopefully) now. What do ya think?

**Allyrien Chantel de Montreve**-- I've condensed everything now…glad you like it!

**….**- I'm updating ASAP…I'm tryin'….

**Holly** - Hey! Fork over some rum to the hard-working author here! 

**just me**... -glad you like Anamaria's past. I wasn't sure exactly what to do…but hey, it works!

Further note: Historical accuracy is a moot point. Keep that in mind. And yes, there will be some derogatory names to the African people: sorry. This is not my opinion, but what I'm making Giselle's.  And no, I don't think it's right.

Further: Sorry this took so long, but *checks reviews* yeah… a whopping 8 people reviewed.  So, I doubt I upset a lot of people.   My main goal was to finish it.  And…

It's not finished.

And yes, this Yao is based on Yao the basketball player. No offense to him.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Devious Plots and Evil Cackles

Giselle frowned at the two children sleeping on the floor of the shack. They obviously weren't suffering enough. She had to make the threat believable.

Threat. Her threat. Her brilliant, evil, nefarious threat.

To kill the kids if their guardian were not delivered within a fortnight.

Giselle did not doubt that the nigger woman would attempt to rescue them. She did doubt that she would sacrifice herself, but there were plans for both occurrences.

Plans…

She had been making plans ever since she had heard the overseer in the whorehouse moaning about finding a mulatto lass. Hell, before that, she had been making plans for three years that wouldn't ever work. Revenge on Jack… the bastard.

This one would work.

The overseer had been sent to find a mulatto lass, aged about 25 or so, to take back to the Carolinas. Turns out she was the bastard daughter of the original owner. And when the original owner had died, she had run south, at the ripe o' age o' 16. The estate had reverted to a brother in England. He had found out about the daughter, and, being the stupid lackwit that thought all people, man, woman, white, black, were equal, writ in his will that the estate would go to her, and, if she could not be found in 5 years, that the estate would go to a cousin in Ireland.

_Ireland?_

That was where the overseer came in. He was an employee of a neighboring plantation owner, who wanted the huge, fallow land for his own. To do that, he had to possess the mulatto girl, who was still a slave, a runaway slave. So he put out a huge reward, with posters, the lot.

Supposedly the girl was the spittin' image o' her ma, with her da's eyes. So that was the image on the posters.

The image was just close enough for Giselle to recognize her.

It was the whore who had taken up residence on the Black Pearl.

The whore who had taken the "entertainment" of the Lonely Widow.

The whore who had taken Jack's love.

_Damnit!_

She had had him. Had that Captain Jack Sparrow, the Casanova of the Seven Seas, the man who had come up with the idea of a woman in every port. She had had him for a delightful fortnight, humping like rabbits and whispering endearments and love.

And marriage.

He had said he would marry her! The two-faced lying scum!

When he had come back to Tortuga, she had fully expected to be swept into his arms and into the nearest bed. Instead, she was beat to welcome him by an angry redhead, and her instinct had taken over.

And he had jumped into bed with the nearest available woman. An unnatural negro bitch.

Giselle had vowed revenge, and fate had smiled upon her. Her opportunity had ended up on her lap.

The overseer and his crew would take the nigger back to the Carolinas, to be done whatever with. Jack, most certainly, would follow her to Tortuga, and while that whore was being abducted, she would sent Yao to deal with Jack.

Yao, her faithful servant. He was a giant Oriental man, who for some reason, had taken up with a pirate ship and then abandoned ship to make his fortune in Tortuga. He had ended up as her servant.

Some races obviously knew their place.

Giselle looked at the children thoughtfully. She would have to get a message to the woman alone, to lure her away from Jack and to the overseer.

What was the damned man's name again?

Didn't matter. Once he had her, well, outta sight, outta mind.

For both the overseer and the woman.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Demands

Anamaria and Jack strode up the beach. Even from the distance of a mile or so they could tell that the house had obviously been attacked.

Anamaria broke into a run, Jack at her heels.

She burst through the door, bellowing, "Zeke! Ada!"

Jack bellowed from behind her, "Will! Liz!"

They were answered by a groan. They both wheeled to their left, and were greeted by Will, crusted with blood, tottering down the hall.

They ran to his side.

Jack's eyes narrowed in inspection of Will's wounds. The only serious one was to his shoulder; a sword had pierced almost right through his right one. The rest were a series of nicks and cuts. They had bled profusely, staining his clothes, but they were starting to heal already.

Anamaria began to question him. "Where are they? What happened? Please, Will, tell me!"

Will waved irritably with his hands, unconsciously mimicking Jack. "Attacked me at the forge. Tried to fight, knocked me out, took Zeke. Came up here when I woke up, everyone dead or gone. Found ransom note." His eyes widened, examining Anamaria as if for the first time. "You. You are who they want." He paused, his mouth moving silently, as if about to utter something distasteful. "The slave."

The blood ran from Anamaria's face. "What?"

Jack relinquished his hold on Will and looked for the note. 

"Here." Will pulled it from his pocket. "Read it."

Jack took it and coughed, politely, twice, to clear his throat. Nobody was amused.

"Slave," Jack's voice tightened. "In return for your spawn, we request your presence in Tortuga. You will be contacted further upon your arrival."

He looked at Will. "Elizabeth?"

Will's eyes darkened. "Gone."

Jack shrugged, and caught Will about the shoulders. "Ye'll just be comin' with us, then, aye?"

They were about to waltz out the door when Will turned suddenly. "Ana?" He said softly. "Are you coming?"

Anamaria suddenly shook herself, and the light came back into her face. "Please, Will, call me 'Ria. My father used to call me Ana."

She strode past them. "Correction: my _owner_ used to call me Ana."

Will looked at Jack for an explanation. All he got was a shake of a head. Jack said, "'Tis not me place to explain. She'll do it in her own time."

Jack nudged Will towards the door. "C'mon, whelp." Will smiled unconsciously at the nickname. " 'Ria will patch ye up on the ship, once she gets her wind back."

And they followed the young woman down the beach, back to the Pearl.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------When the Past Won't Let Go

Anamaria did patch Will up, the first night, when the ship was manned by a skeleton crew and night watch.

Will gripped a bottle of Jack's best rum as he stared fixedly at a particular knot in the wood of the door of Jack's cabin. Anamaria noted that it was full.

"Ye somehow manage to get Jack to give ye a full bottle o' 'is best, and ye can't even drink it?" Anamaria's voice was low and soothing, but with a note of teasing in it. She could tell her stitching pained him horribly. " 'E'll be terribly insulted." She was good, patching up sails and crew with ease, but rarely did the wound not trouble the victim, intoxicated or no.

Will grimaced. "Elizabeth has weaned me off spirits. Chances are, I'll take two sips and my stomach will tolerate no more."

Anamaria snorted. "Boy, ye half-pirate, at least. A sip o' rum will do ye a world o' good." She frowned at his wound. "Split it with ye shoulder. Ye better take the first half."

Will popped the top of the bottle and took a swig. Instead of immediately spraying the burning liquid back out, as Anamaria expected he would, he made a face and swallowed. She was impressed. Bootstrap's son to the end.

Will gasped for air. Then he took another gulp. 

"Whoa, there," Anamaria cautioned. "I need some o' that. Don't drink it all." She grabbed the bottle from his hand and poured it onto a scrap of clean cloth. She then pressed the cloth to the wound. Will moaned, and reached for the bottle once more, but Anamaria eluded him. 

"No, not too much now." She said as she quickly finished stitching him up. She then upended the bottle over the wound, and Will moaned. He then leaned back on her hammock and promptly fell asleep.

Anamaria stared at him. _What the hell…?_

Oh well. She had thinking to do.

She went up to the deck. Unfortunately, Jack was already there, at the helm, all to happy to question her about their mission.

"Ye sure ye are tellin' me the truth about ye past, luv?" Jack questioned gently, wasting no time. 

Anamaria narrowed her eyes. " 'Ow much did I tell ye that night, Jack?"

Jack shrugged. "Ye the bastard o' a slave woman an' 'er master, from the Carolinas." He paused, considering whether or not to go on. Anamaria's knowing glare convinced him. "An' ye defended yeself against a couple o' bastards, an' took their boat for good measure." Jack grinned widely. "An' I know the rest. Ye pearl dove for a year o' two, went to Tortuga for some 'uman contact, found me lovely self instead, assisted me in a rather unfair fight, and then I, " he paused, debating whether it would be worth relinquishing his hold on the helm to avoid being slapped. He held on, and prepared to duck. "I commandeered ye boat, with every intent of returnin' it, we had our lovely adventure with the undead getting' me Pearl back, an' I convinced ye to join me crew. And a lovely three years it been."

Anamaria turned from him, unsatisfied but unwilling to voice her uneasiness. "Aye, that'd be it."

Jack waggled his head, and frowned. But it had to be asked. "Luv, Ye sure ye aren't the unknowing heiress of a rich estate? The daughter of a powerful African king? Queen o' Sheba perhaps? Ye didn't hold up a Governor o' a colony, o' murder anyone important? Emperor of China, maybe? Rob a bank? " Anamaria shot him a look over her shoulder, the look that said, "Jack, ye sound like ye mad an' I don't like it." Jack sighed and pushed forward. His distraction wouldn't work. "Ye didn't happen to become a…" 

Anamaria wheeled.

Jack continued, wary. "A…special friend o' anyone important, eh?"

Anamaria screeched. "No! Damn ye eyes!" She didn't slap him, as Jack expected. She punched him, hard, right above his left eye. They howled in pain together. 

Anamaria continued her rant, in a breathless tone, cradling her hand. "No, damn ye to hell and back. I missed that fate by the skin o' me teeth, and there's not an innocent's chance in Tortuga I'll ever be a white man's mistress."

She stood tall, and looked in Jack's eyes. "I'd _die_ first."

She turned on her booted heel and stomped to mast, and started to climb. Jack felt compelled to worry, but shoved the emotion aside. She had done watch so many times that she could do it blind folded, much less on a moonlit night on calm seas. Nothing to fret about.

He did anyway, keeping a careful eye on her until she disappeared into the crow's nest.

And a thought occurred to him, while he did what he told himself not to do: Why would all this be brought up almost six years after she had disappeared?

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Pirates Gone Wild

Anamaria kept to the nest most of the next day. Her relief, Tomas, was sent back down to the galley to get a loaf from Jean and a bottle of water. He did so with a queer gleam in his eye, and as soon as his task was done, he sought Jack out.

"Cap'n, methinks the lady's gone mad." Jack had to hide his snort at the crew's term for Anamaria. She had never caught them using it, despite her cat-like hearing. She would have taken offense.

The crew used it only as a term of utmost respect.

Jack forced himself to pay attention to the rather elderly man in front of him. Tomas' voice was low and earest. He was a relatively calm, peaceful man, happy with simple theft and plunder. Bewigged. A member for three years, the original crew.

Anamaria didn't usually intimidate him. Hadn't for nigh two years. _So what was goin' on?_

Tomas, seeing Jack more confused then usual, elaborated. "She's sittin' up there, mutterin' in some foreign tongue, rockin' back an' forth. Not like 'e would with the ship, but rockin' like 'e had…" Tomas' voice choked. "Like 'e 'ad Ada in 'er arms again, o' somethin'. An' 'e 'eard me comin', and knew 'o I was, an' everythin'. Ain't natural, even for 'er."

Jack nodded gravely at this report, and waved a hand in dismissal. "Thank ye, Tomas. I'll look into it immediately."

He debated whether or not to wait for her to come down. He decided to give her the rest of the day. A pirate would have to be seriously disturbed to stay in that bucket of a crows' nest for a full 24 hours.

It soon became clear that Anamaria was seriously disturbed. Anytime Jack had sent up a relief, she had turned them right back around. No one was going to fight her for it; they reported back to the Captain, stated whatever inane retort Anamaria had thought up, and went about doing other tasks.

It was time for the captain to take her in hand.

Will searched for Jack. It wasn't hard. First he tried the cabin, but it was empty, so Will continued to the deck. And there he was, standing at the helm, grinning widely. Will felt himself smiling unconsciously in response as he approached.

"Oy, Jack." He called. Jack's eyes never left the horizon as he answered, "Aye, boy, I'm worried too."

Both pairs of eye flicked upwards.

Will looked at Jack. "What are you going to do?"

Jack eyed Will. "Whaddya mean, 'What am I goin' to do?'?" 

Will didn't falter. "Exactly what I said." 

Jack turned to face Will fully. "And why me?"

"You are her captain." Will said evenly. "And I had assumed her friend."

Jack interrupted. "Tis bad to assume. Know what they said-- 'makes an ass of you and me'…" He sang the phrase a tad off key.

Will continued. "And I didn't think you'd let her sacrifice herself for the children."

Jack muttered, "I'm not sure who I'd rather be stuck with-- trainable little demons or one bitchy woman who at least carried her own weight…"

Will glared at him, then sighed and turned away. He had said his part. 

Jack said, lowly, "Don't worry yourself, whelp." 

Will nodded once, and continued looking out at the ocean.

Jack climbed the rigging, thinking that Anamaria had better appreciate his efforts. He never climbed the rigging, struggling to maintain his elegance while grabbing at ropes.

He heard her call down, "Allez-vous -en."

_Go away._ He wondered momentarily why she had buried herself in French, then he had reached that horrid sky-high bucket and he threw himself over the rail.

She was curled up, head on her knees, arms wrapped around her legs, one had loosely holding his spyglass that she had stolen late last spring. 

Jack's lightheartedness took a nosedive.

"Luv…Ce qui est erroné?" _What is wrong?_

"Je ne sais pas quoi faire." _I do not know what to do._

Jack was dumbfounded. His strong, powerful, determined, always-know-where-I'm-going-and-how-to-get-there girl was at a loss?

He uneasily put an arm around her thin shoulders as he moved to sit by her side. Anamaria wriggled closer to his side. Jack cursed softly and pulled her onto his lap, wrapping his arms around her tightly.

"Je les veux en arrière" She cried out, "Je les veux en arrière dans des mes bras." _I want them back. I want them back in my arms._

Jack made soothing noises, then thought better of it. Anamaria was not to be babied, even while in extreme emotion turmoil. At least she wasn't full out bawling. Distraction time. "Pourquoi sommes nous parlant en français?" _Why are we talking in French?_

Anamaria took a deep breath. Her face was still buried in Jack's shoulder when she said, "Whenever I was upset, I talked to Nan-- an older slave, my friend. But she didn't speak English well enough to understand me all the time…so I learned to speak French…"

Jack nodded. She felt it even if she couldn't see it. She continued taking deep breaths so she wouldn't burst out sobbing. Sound carried out here on the ocean.

Jack rocked her gently. As the sun melted into a simmering splash of reds and oranges on the horizon, Anamaria and Jack fell asleep in each others arms.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Meetings with Questionable Characters

Anamaria wandered down the street, contemplating where to gather gossip next. Somewhere were she didn't have to see Jack be propositioned and enjoying it, she hoped. She began to stalk towards the Merry Widow. She had made it past several "establishments" when she felt someone following her. She wheeled towards an alley, fingering the hilt of her sword. When she was three-fourths down the alley, she turned, sword out and demanded, "Whaddya want?" 

It was a prositute—older, matronly looking. She beckoned to Anamaria with a finger. "I have information about ye kiddies" she said softly. 

Anamaria's eyes widened in disbelief, then narrowed suspicously. She waved her sword impatiently. "I want proof." 

The woman had obviously been expecting this, and she began to recite, "The boy will only answer to Zeke, and to none of his old names. The girl, whom he calls Ada, has obviously been around pirates or sailors, 'cause she curses like one. She-"

Anamaria cut her off. Fine." She snapped, lowering her sword. "Show me." 

The woman shook her head. "Come with me, and I'll explain the situation."

Jack stumbled into the next tavern looking for Anamaria. He needed someone relatively sober to make sure that he didn't drown trying to board the Pearl and he always needed to sleep aboard his ship. Always. It was a security blanket, of sorts. No one could sail away with it if he was already aboard.

The sight that greeted him was astounding. Anamaria sat slouched in a chair at an otherwise empty table, an older looking whore perched in her lap. The prostitute was winding her long white fingers through Anamaria's raven-black hair and leaning in close to whisper in her ear.

Jack looked around the room. The other patrons went along their merry way, ignoring what could possibly pass as a very pretty male being propositioned by a waitress. Jack blinked slowly. He was used to alcohol induced hallucinations, but this was too much. He was slightly shocked to feel jealousy curdle his stomach. Holy hell, this had to stop. The infamous Captain Jack Sparrow was jealous of a common whore? Enough. Jack stomped over to the table, suddenly sobered.

"Anam-" he got out before the whore sat back, a dispassionate look on her face.

Anamaria whirled, and inadvertently dumped the whore on the floor. Jack was stunned by the look on her face. While she had looked angry, agitated, guilty, and just plain unreadable for a variety of inexplicable reasons that Jack really didn't want to know, now she had this look of pain on her face. She looked like she wanted to cry.

"Help me, Jack." She pleaded, reaching a hand hesitantly towards him. "Please."

Jack moved instantly. He pulled her into his arms, and whispered into her hair, "I'll do anything." 

He glanced warily at the whore, who flounced off. But she flounced off angerly, she seemed more…satified.

Jack shook his head to rid himself of the rum in his head.  It had to be the rum.  Whenever anything didn't make sense that dealt with females, he had learned to blame the drink.  If ye blamed the females, all ye got was slapped.  He had learned something after all those blows to the head.  

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Unreasonablenesss

Jack stomped down the street.  Unreasonable females indeed.  Wantin' 'im to go smash down some bordello.  Why, bordellos bordered on sacred ground, as far as 'e was concerned.  But she kept insisting that the information the whore gave 'er matched what she saw in 'er dream, and that they should go confront whomever ran the whorehouse.

He had argued with her that the whore he was with told him that there had been strange noises comin' from an usually abandoned cabin at the end of the island, and that they should go investigate that, first.

At the end, they split.  Jack didn't allow himself a moment of regret as he stomped towards the end of the island.  She had let him go, yelling at him to watch out for large Oriental men at the end.  At least, that's what he heard.  Who cared if it made sense.  All females were out of their minds, as far as he was concerned.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Ya Gotta Fight…

Anamaria threw open the door at the top of the stairwell.  

De ja vu swept over her and instinct screamed as her body threw itself on the floor.

Anamaria marveled at the hostile takeover her instinct had wrought when the sound registered—the sound of a knife humming as it rocked, embedded into the wall.

She barely made it to her feet in time to meet the screeching blonde who threw herself at Anamaria, another knife clenched in her thin hand.  Anamaria dodged right and tripped over the opulent bed that took up the majority of the space in the room.

_How could I have missed that?_  She thought as she rolled, missing another blow by the skin of her teeth.

The whore kept screeching, but now she was screeching words.  Barely understandable, but Anamaria could guess.

"You bitch!  Worthless whore!  Sad nigger excuse for a cunt! Two bastards borne and countin'!"  The insults kept coming, and Anamaria tuned out her noises.  If Anamaria got any angrier, the list of deaths she had planed she wouldn't get to execute.

Anamaria paused.  Execute.  Ha.

The pause was a bad idea.  Giselle managed to get in a blow to the head.  But she leaned too far, and Anamaria grabbed her hand, which Anamaria noted, still had the knife, and swiftly lifted her knee to the loony lady's stomach, and then kicked.

Plainly put, Anamaria launched Giselle over her head and through the window.

The second-story window.


End file.
